


Adjustments

by Sonora



Series: Love Bites 'verse [13]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Image, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, M/M, Multi, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott comes back to the Sydney Shatterdome, Raleigh has a baby, and Herc is thoroughly fed up with all the goddamn angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So there have been some Scott feels coming out lately, and he needed a bit of a story. 
> 
> Hopefully, this won't be horribly long. I have a quilt and a Civil War dress to finish in the next three weeks. But these Scott feels... can't resist the Scott feels.

Scott never expected to see Australia again - he hadn’t really expected to live through his prison sentence in Hawaii. Hadn’t wanted to. A life without Herc? Not worth living, and that was how he felt about it _before_ he found out it would kill him anyway.

But here he is. 

Back.

And now, he doesn’t want to be here.

He just... doesn’t. 

Not like this.

Because what he does want is exactly what he can’t have. What he destroyed the morning Scissure made landfall. Lazy mornings and cheap donuts at the beach and their son’s terrible school plays and those sundresses he used to wear because of the way Herc’s hands felt through them, caressing the curves of a body that was never really his. 

But now, Scott’s got confirmation of that horrible truth he’s always been afraid of. He is a monster. An incubus. And so is his Charlie, and those damn Beckets and Raleigh’s future sprog, and Herc, Herc’s somehow okay with all of this, like it’s fucking _normal_ for your son to sprout wings and start crying for cock...

“Gonna get off the plane, angel?”

Scott starts at the old endearment, a protest bubbling out before he can stop himself. “Don’t call me that, arsehole.”

He regrets it the second it’s out of his mouth. Something like a ghost drift is reestablishing itself between him and Herc; comforting and terrifying, Scott can feel Herc’s emotions again. And right now, what Herc’s feeling is _hurt_.

He doesn’t give voice to it, though. Herc never does. And that was always something Scott prided himself on, back when he was still Angela. Knowing Herc’s moods. Knowing how to make him smile again, forget his troubles, let him lose himself for a little while...

...but that was always about sex, and that was only ever about being an incubus, and Scott can’t figure out what the hell he’s done for Herc except fuck up his life? If he hadn’t done what he’d done, _lied_ , then Herc would have found himself a nice human girl, had a nice human son, never dealt with any of this bullshit, any of this horror that his little brother’s put into his life...

“Take all the time you need,” Herc says quietly, resignation bubbling out of him, and lays a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Must be a bit strange, being back.”

Scott lays his forehead against the window of the civilian Gulfstream they took out of Hong Kong. Outside, on the tarmac, the boys are headed on up to the all-too-familiar doors of the Sydney ‘Dome’s main hangar. Raleigh’s got his arm hooked around Yancy’s waist, Chuck’s dodging around like he always does when he’s laughing at something clever he said... happy, they’re just happy, like they were the whole trip back. Happy about the court martial, happy about being home with their daddy, happy about the baby...

Scott, on the other hand, feels nothing but dread. 

Especially about the baby.

What’s he going to be, when the new little sprog arrives?

Why’s Herc even want him around?

At least Raleigh’s cute. And young. And sweet. And not an ex-con who’s lived life way too hard and looks like a goddamn skeleton right now and oh, by the way, _related_.

“No,” he whispers, and curls his fingers around Herc’s palm, holding on for dear life. “I’m fine.”

Herc pats his shoulder, kisses the top of his head, and then he’s out there with the boys.

Happy.

It’s not until they’re almost at the hangar doors that Scott remembers he’s got no idea what room Herc’s living in now, and if he loses them, he’ll have to find somebody else to ask. And as much as he doesn’t want to be around this weird extended family Herc’s made for them, he really doesn’t want to deal with anybody else in this ‘Dome.

It gets him out of his seat.

He only just catches them.

But even with that, it’s still a clusterfuck. Because half of Striker’s crew is inside, everybody obviously turned out to welcome their pilots home. Talking and joking and laughing - it’s galling, how happy everyone is - and then falling silent the second Scott steps out of the sweaty afternoon. Like a goddamn movie scene.

And, of course, somebody has to say it. 

“What’s that fuckhead doing here?”


	2. Chapter 2

Staring at the group - some of whom he realizes he knows, Lucky’s crew - Scott wants to tell them all to fuck off. Walk through. Flip them the bird. Be _himself_ for them, but he isn’t that person anymore. That Scott Hansen was always partially fiction.

He’s still trying to get used to this new reality Yancy forced on him.

He’s got no idea who he is, within that.

What he can do.

Other than stop cold behind Herc, and try not to panic.

Scott has no idea what everybody’s been thinking about him, the reasons behind his incarceration. He took the memories from Herc, the court martial records were sealed, and in true military fashion, he’d sort of expected everybody to be given some version of _he’s in jail fuck off that’s all you need to know._ That just leaves rumor.

He knew that.

He just hadn’t thought about what that might mean. What it would be.

But there’s something sick rising up in him, deep. From that place where dreams live, where the drift flows, assaulting him. Flashes, images, pressing down on him, impossible to not see. Too terrible to not look at. 

Him. All him. 

Standing in a Thai brothel with a knife in his hand. Blood. Flashes of violence, things he would never do. Concrete and the smell of rot and cocaine burning through the flesh of his nose and Chuck on the bed, chubby little boy that he was, tears on his cheeks, and...

And under the weight of it, that last one - he would never hurt Chuck, he could never even begin to think about it, and why is he thinking about this, why does it feel like he _wants_ this? - Scott can’t breathe.

The world’s narrowing down, hot and cold and gray and black and his chest, his chest is tightening up so severely his ribs start cracking, and his legs aren’t cooperating, won’t hold him up steady.

He can dimly feel himself backing up, hitting something, almost falling over, stumbling back to his feet, trying to get away, but all he sees is himself in front of his baby, Charlie backing up, begging him _no Uncle Scott, I’ll be good, I’m..._

“Shit,” he hears Yancy say, as if from a long, long ways away, and the only thing he can feel are the kid’s hands on him, hauling him away.

The images fade into gray.

He lets Yancy drag him off into that blessed blankness.

+++++

It takes a while for things to start to make sense again.

And when they do, there are two things very out of place.

For one, the bed he’s in seems to be on the floor.

And two?

That’s Yancy cuddled up against him.

“Where’s Herc?” he asks gruffly, rubbing a hand across his face. He feels like he’s been pulled apart. Like that time Lightcap stuck him in a drift sim with somebody who wasn’t Herc, testing out her theory that if one brother was universally compatible, the other would be as well. 

Yancy taps a finger against Scott’s bare chest - and wait, what happened to his clothes? Why is he naked? Why isn’t that _uncomfortable_? “Dealing with his crew. Guess somebody didn’t get the memo about you not just being released, but all charges discovered to be false.”

“You don’t have to lie, Yance.” Scott grunts. “He wouldn’t have said anything to them.”

“Hey, he...”

“I mean, he would have forgotten to,” he clarifies. Fuck, his head hurts. “What happened?”

“Umm, I’m not, umm, not really sure? What was going on, umm,” Yancy taps his forehead, “upstairs?”

If Scott learned anything from their week together in lock-up, it’s that Yancy Becket believes the answer to life’s problems is fucking talking about them. And will keep talking until he gets a response. And _fuck off_ doesn’t seem to qualify. 

“It was like a bad drift,” Scott says, grudging. “That thing where you don’t quite hear somebody’s thoughts, but you can feel them pressing in on you like...”

“You were hearing their thoughts,” Yancy interrupts quickly, but has the decency to flush when Scott glares at him. “You were hearing thoughts.”

“We’re psychic?”

“Sometimes. When it has to do with... ahh shit, you’ve never noticed that?”

“No need to be a wanker about it,” he snaps back, and sits up, scooting back. 

“Scott, that’s not...just, look, I know you haven’t had anybody to help you with this, but you’ve got us now,” Yancy says, earnest enough to cut, and lays a hand on Scott’s knee under the blankets. “Raleigh and I grew up knowing what we were and it’s a lot to have dumped on you, even as a kid. I can’t imagine what it’s like to come into it now.”

Scott closes his eyes, body screaming for the physical comfort Yancy is offering, unsure if he should accept it or not. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know, man. But your mom fucked one of us, so here we are.”

He thinks about all the girls he’s slept with over the years, gut going cold. “Does that mean...”

“No. Not at all.” Is Yancy moving closer to him again?

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Sure I do,” Yancy murmurs, and lays a cheek on Scott’s shoulder, fingers back to plucking at the light scattering of chest hair he has. “You’re worried that what you’ve done might mean there’s some kid out there, dealing with this same shit, alone, right now.”

Scott stares up at the ceiling, “Guess I should probably ask how.”

“Sex thoughts,” Yancy says, and then groans. “Oh, I know what happened. You were hearing it, weren’t you? All the shit everybody thinks you did, like, strangling Thai hookers or molesting kids or...”

He swallows, feeling queasy again. “I meant ‘bout not being able to get women pregnant.”

“Ah,” Yancy says. “Right. Of course. Love. The human’s gotta be in love to make a baby.”

“What difference does that make?”

Yancy shrugs. “Love’s kind of a human magic, I guess. I don’t know.”

“So Herc really loves Raleigh then, eh?” He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, and why the fuck should he? The Beckets are fucking interlopers.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love... Scott, what’d I say?”

Because Scott is up, out of - off of? - the bed, standing. He supposes it should bother him that he’s naked, but it doesn’t. Not really. Neither does the befuddled look on Yancy’s face. “Can I still smoke?”

“Umm, physically, I guess. We breathe, we’ve got lungs,” Yancy says and shrugs, the last of the sheets pooling around his waist - and he truly does have a very nice body, doesn’t he? Flawless. He’s a gorgeous boy. Scott can completely understand why Herc replaced him with these two. “But it’s not like your body can do anything with the nicotine.”

Scott doesn’t much care what Becket thinks he does or doesn’t know. Pulling on Herc’s bathrobe, he settles himself down on the room’s sofa and lights up.

Yancy sits down next to him, weight settling against Scott’s side, comforting. Familiar, somehow. Even though they’ve only known each a grand total of six weeks, there is a feeling of family about him. 

_Like it or not, Herc’s picked them,_ Scott tells himself, cigarette burning out between his fingers. _You forced yourself on him, but he chose them._

“This is so fucked up,” Scott says quietly and tries to take another drag, hands shaking. The cigarette’s down to the filter though, hardly anything left, and all he can do is stare at it, mute. Fuck it. His hands aren’t listening to him anyway. “’S all fucked up.”

“I know,” Yancy says. Leans in. Takes the nearly dead cig away from him with those smooth, elegant fingers of his and lifts it to his own lips, pressing a fresh cigarette to the butt and inhaling deeply. There’s something obscene about the grace with which the younger incubus does it; Scott just stares at him, transfixed.

Yancy smiles a little, and slips the freshly-lit cigarette into Scott’s fingers, leaning in to kiss him at the same time. Scott lets him, not sure what to do with himself, why it feels so good to have those smooth, full lips sliding against his own. 

“I thought I was Herc’s,” he says, hoarse, as Yancy pulls away again.

“We both belong to him,” Yancy tells him, gentle, and brushes his knee as he stands up. “You okay for a minute? I’m gonna go get Chuck.”

 _Chuck_. Scott’s mind wanders back to that image, the one of Chuck as a boy, on the floor... and then tells it to go to hell. It’s not his; he would never hurt his son like that.

Except...

“Don’t,” Scott says, the word coming out more plaintive, panicked, than he means to. He grabs for Yancy’s hand. “Don’t... he doesn’t... don’t go.”

“Okay,” Yancy replies. “But you gotta do something for me.”

“What?”

“Lay back.”

Which is how the rest of the family finds them, half an hour later; Scott stretched out on the sofa, smoking away, Yancy laying practically on top of him, snuggled in, arms wrapped around Scott’s body, wings spread out around both of them like a strange, warm blanket.

“Feeling any better?” Herc asks, Raleigh and Chuck staying back by the door for the moment.

“You moved our room,” Scott grunts. 

Herc sighs; he looks exhausted. From more than just the flight. “The fuck did you think I was going to do, Scott? Stay in our old quarters after you got arrested?”

“Oh right,” Scott says, bristling, “after you thought I was raping you...”

“Yeah, after you...

“Tryin’ to sleep here, Daddy,” Yancy interrupts, cracking an eye, tail swishing like a disturbed cat’s. “Let’s not, eh?”

“No, you’re right,” Herc says and sits down on the arm of the sofa. “You okay, angel?”

Scott doesn’t have the strength to tell Herc to shut up. 

The hand that finds his hair is grounding. Feels good. Right.

“Want a hit?” he asks instead, holding up the cigarette.

Herc rolls his eyes but takes it anyway. “It’s not weed, is it?”

Scott looks up, holding Herc’s eyes. He wants to tell Herc that he never partook as much as he pretended he did - and then, only when he knew Charlie was safe, when it hurt too much, not being able to sleep next to Herc. He wants to say that he wouldn’t do it anymore anyway, even if he wasn’t an incubus. That there’s a baby coming and maybe Raleigh will want his help. 

He doesn’t say any of that, though. 

Doesn’t seem like the right time. Especially not with the boys in the room.

“Don’t think drugs would do me much good anymore,” he says.

Herc nods.

They finish the cigarette together. And by the time it’s done, Scott’s decided he can get through this. Get over his bullshit, and deal.

If taking back seat to the Beckets is the price of being allowed into his brother’s life, it’s worth it.

Anything would be worth it, to have his husband back.

+++++

Even with that conviction banging around in his brain, it takes Scott a few days to get his bearings.

He hadn’t just been giving Herc shit about the room to give him shit; he’d liked their old room. Unlike the jury-rigged austerity of the Icebox or the steampunk weirdness that was the winning design for Hong Kong, the Aussies kept their own ‘Dome a bit more sensible. Clean lines, sturdy, simple furniture, and plenty of natural light. Their old window looked out over the healthy part of Sydney Harbour. Scott had been looking forward to that again.

Instead, their current quarters are practically on the other side of the base, like Herc deliberately moved as far away from their old rooms as they could. Probably did, and Scott doesn’t blame him, not after all the hate he put in his brother’s brain. Still nice, same floor plan, expanded even. But it’s different.

And with everything else being different, something familiar would have been comforting.

Scott never goes down to the ops floor. No reason. Whatever Herc said to his crew, Scott doesn’t think he could face what’s in their minds again. Yancy’s trying to show him how to control it, but he’s terrified his mind’s going to go haywire again. Besides, Lucky’s gone, her hangar bay empty, haunted. It’s too hard, the memories (he’s the one that killed her, after all). He avoids the place like the plague. 

Plus, he’s still getting used to this no eating or drinking thing. Not that he misses food, exactly - looking back, food hasn’t tasted of much for a long time. Still, human society revolves around food, he’s realizing now, and being unable to partake does more to make him feel like a... a _creature_ than any other one single thing in this strange new life of his. He avoid the mess too, the squadron bar, that coffee shop with all the computers down on the first floor, all the little hang-outs he used to know...

Actually, if he’s honest with himself about it, there aren’t too many places in the ‘Dome where he does feel comfortable.

The only time things are okay is when he’s with Herc.

But he’s not Herc’s co-pilot anymore.

There's no resentment there. Scott is proud, so fucking proud, of Chuck. Standing proud at his daddy’s side and kicking all kinds of ass. 

It’s hard, though.

It’s so hard, not having Herc to himself. Not knowing where his place is. 

Because that’s the real kicker about this whole mess; at least Scott knew who he was and where he belonged in things, back when he still thought he was human, back when everything was lies. Now it’s all out in the open, and he’s got no idea what to do with himself.

“You said you could listen to your brother’s dreams, right?” Scott asks Raleigh, on their way to IKEA one morning. Crib shopping. 

Herc and Chuck have Striker, Yancy’s cross-training into a position in LOCCENT, so none of them have the time to help Raleigh out with all the little things that need to be done. Probably don’t even realize it. Men are terrible about the little details sometimes. 

“Yeah, sure,” Raleigh says and smiles with a smile that’s not his. “Why?”

They’re both wearing different faces right now; precautions against the stupid media vultures. While Raleigh couldn’t shift fully, though, Scott pulled Angela back on. He’s trying not to be her in front of Herc or Chuck, just doesn’t think it’s a good idea. The family's strained, having him back, and Scott doesn't want to risk losing those _Mum_ s out of Chuck or _angel_ s from Herc by reminding them who really should still be with them. It feels good though, being her for a little while. Good memories. 

Of the two of them, though, Raleigh is the one wearing the dress. Looks good on him. Those little cap sleeves and a padded bra? He’s got a perfect figure, even with his belly starting to round.

“Just curious,” Scott says, twirling a bit of hair around thin fingers. “Reckon I should learn everything there is to learn.”

“Has Yancy given you a copy of Azazel’s Guide yet?”

“What’s that?”

“Book Mom used to recommend. I think there’s some other stuff out there too, but it’s harder to find.” Raleigh hesitates. “And a lot of it’s controlled by hunters.”

“Hunters?”

Raleigh shrugs. “I can show you the dream thing, if you’d like. It’s nice.” His smile gets a little more devious. “And don’t tell Yancy, but, uhh, he thinks he can lock me out, but he can’t. I pretend for him, though.”

“That’s what you gotta do with ‘em sometimes. Men always want to think they’re in control.”

“And they’re totally not, are they?”

“No, they suck at it. Herc wouldn’t know where to find his socks if I wasn’t around,” Scott snorts, and then genuinely wonders; who has been doing the laundry, with him gone? Who has been taking care of Herc?

Raleigh laughs and lets a hand fall out of the window, into the warm morning breeze. “We should do this more often,” he says.

“What’s that?”

“Girls’ morning out.”

Scott can’t help but chuckle at that. “All that’s missing are the mimosas.”

“We could do that!” Raleigh says excitedly. “I mean, if Daddy wanted to let me maybe just bottle up some...”

“Do not say jizz.”

“I was gonna say cum, but jizz works too.”

“Oh yeah, I can just see that. Shopping at IKEA, champagne flute of cum in hand, I’m sure they would love it.”

Raleigh tips his seat back and pushes his sunglasses up. “Shut up. Everybody loves Daddy’s cum.”

Scott coughs. “So what were you saying about those dreams?”

“Oh yeah, it’s super easy, especially on a human,” Raleigh says.

They talk about it all the way through the store.

They buy a crib.

Put it together. 

Spend the whole afternoon laughing.

And that night, after dinner, after everybody’s asleep, Scott’s able to follow Raleigh’s advice all the way down. 

Herc’s dreaming about nothing in particular, just shapes and colors, really. But it’s warm here, bright, and slotted into it, Scott feels safe for the first time since they told him he was being released from prison.

He might not have a place or a purpose anymore, but at least he’s still got Herc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand apparently cats can land a jump off a twelve foot vertical drop with no issues. My furry little monster is going to give me a heart attack...
> 
> Hopefully this worked?


	3. Chapter 3

Turns out, Herc is just as tragic with laundry as he was back when they were married. So at least Scott’s go that to do - and, sad as it is, he enjoys doing the laundry. He’s always liked the smell of it, loves the way Herc’s deeply masculine scent penetrates the fabric of everything he wears. Now, though, Chuck and Raleigh and Yancy are mingled in there, lighter and spicier; Raleigh almost sweet, Yancy rich, Chuck with a distinctly cinnamon nose that makes Scott so light-headed, it’s embarrassing. 

And - again, sad though it is - doing the laundry at least gets him out of their quarters. Out in the ‘Dome.

Where all the humans are.

It’s still difficult to think about other people as _others_ ; before, the only others Scott knew about were the kaijuu. But Yancy keeps saying Scott needs to make a clean break with any perceptions of his own humanity, so Scott’s forcing himself to use those terms. 

Humans.

They’re different now. Or he’s different. Even though he’s the same as he’s always been.

But he’s not like them. Doesn’t have to be like them, and it’s not until that first morning, sitting in the ‘Dome laundromat, listening to some of the junior techs prattle on about their boyfriends that he realizes that. 

Those girls have so many things to worry about, minds bleeding out insecurities about every single thing they’re saying; one of them’s terrified her friends are going to find out she’s a virgin, the other is lying about her partner count, uncomfortable with how high it is. Neither of them understand why they feel the way they do. But the latter’s verbally blaming everyone else for being judgmental about her bedroom habits, while the former’s is just puddling into shame because _what’s wrong with me?_

Humans have rules. Even when they don’t know what the rules are, they desperately try to cling to them. Rules for everything. 

And Yancy’s right, Scott realizes. Human sexual rules are ridiculous. And he’s spent so much of his life agonizing over them, especially when it comes to what he always wanted with Herc. If he could have just accepted what was in his nature to do, if he could have listened to himself, maybe he could have thought his way through it. Seduced Herc properly, instead of lying to him and trapping him in this farce of a relationship. 

“How was it for you, the, uhh, transition?” Scott asks Raleigh later that morning, when he brings the laundry back.

“What do you mean?”

“Chuck says every one of... of us starts out as human, right?”

“Oh.” Raleigh sits up, laying his laptop aside, hopeful. Little layabout still hasn’t gotten up yet this morning. Says his back hurts, but that’s bullshit. He’s only five months along. And if Scott’s observed anything about Raleigh Becket, it’s that the boy doesn’t just love being pampered, but expects it. Yancy’s spoiled him rotten, and that’s a fact. “Wanna come here and we can talk about it?”

Scott eyes him. “You just want me to crawl in there with you.”

“Don’t you want to?”

Yeah. He does. Scott had always thought his desire for contact was just some weird personal bullshit, but apparently, it’s a normal incubus trait. “Clothes off?”

“Dude, I don’t know why you have clothes _on_.”

“Habit, I suppose,” Scott admits, and goes to work on his sweat pants.

Raleigh watches him step out of his sleep pants with a small smile. “When I woke up for the first time, after... just, all that, Yancy was cuddled up with me. Never really thought it was weird, but I guess...”

“Trust me,” Scott says and plops awkwardly - nakedly - down, “after two decades of thinking m’self human, it’s weird.”

“Yeah, but you’re not,” Raleigh tells him and reaches out with needy fingers. “Isn’t this better?”

Scott lets himself be pulled deeper into what the boys like to call _the nest_ , which he supposes is an adequate description for the artfully arranged mess of cuddly fabric that fills the entirety of the bedroom. And maybe there is something to it, because between the softness of the pillows and the smoothness of Raleigh’s skin, Scott feels comfortable in a way he really shouldn’t.

It’s a nice setting for the terrible story Raleigh has to tell.

Scott lets the boy curl up on him, stroking his hair idly, listening. And he can’t help but wonder, hope, if there isn’t a place left for him in all of this after all. Raleigh’s not interested in being a partner to Herc; he’s looking for a daddy, not a husband. So maybe they might have some room for...

“Ooh, hello!” Raleigh says excitedly, and rubs his cheek on the bouncy, forgiving skin of Angela’s left breast. “You have such nice boobs, Scott.”

Female face flaming, Scott shakes his head. Shit. Why’d he shift? Just because he was thinking about stepping in as the Beckets’ surrogate mum? Shit. He doesn’t have to be a woman for that, does he? Chuck’s been calling him Mum, even when he’s not shifted, hasn’t he? 

He really needs to get Yancy to show him how this all works, get a handle on his... abilities. (Scott refuses to think about this as magic. ’S too fucked up, _magic_ ). Wouldn’t do to be accidentally shifting into Angela around Herc. 

“Umm...”

Raleigh licks one of his nipples, sucking it lightly into his mouth. Just a hint of teeth and he’s letting go again. “They’re very nice.”

“You,” and Scott looks down at himself, lost, “you like me, like this?”

“Hell yeah. You’re so much softer. ’S good for cuddling.”

“Oh.” It hurts more than it should. This was supposed to be about being _him_. Whoever that is. (Scott the incubus, like that makes any sense.) “Reckon that’s a good thing to know.”

“Mm,” and Raleigh snuggles in, hugging tight to Scott’s slighter female frame, yawning. “It’s a very good thing.”

Scott wants to shift back, but doesn’t. He can’t. Not with Raleigh as comfortable as he is. Boy’s pregnant, after all. He deserves a little comfort. And it’s too easy, so nice, to just lay there and pet Raleigh's hair as the he sleeps, that Scott doesn’t even realize Herc’s come back early.

Until it’s too late.

“How are my bo- oh.”

Herc’s standing there in the door, head tilted and gi rumpled, smelling of the Kwoon and Chuck and power. Absolutely edible. But frowning, confused, if Scott’s weak read on their bond is any indication.

He opens his mouth and closes it again, not sure how to apologize for being Angela right now, because that’s got to be the reason why Herc’s upset, except...

“Gonna take a shower, love. Wanna join?”

A hand’s being extended, and an offer like that? Scott can’t turn that down. Herc hasn’t offered him any one on one time since he left hospital - a logistical issue, Scott’s been trying to tell himself, but now, he’s not so sure. The first time _just us_ is offered, and it’s when he’s wearing Angela?

Maybe he’s been going about this all wrong.

Trying to take what he wants from Herc, instead of giving Herc what Herc needs.

Wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked up their lives by doing that.

And the sex is good, too. Really good. Like they’re both able to let go and just be. Herc takes his time, not rushing through it like he normally does, taking Scott’s female body slow and sweet, drawing him out, fingers on his clit and cock deep, pressing her back against the shower wall and giving not an inch of quarter. Scott remembers this, how Herc makes love like he’s conquering her body, all force, all power.

But Scott really doesn’t want to be _her_ again. He spent ten years living as a her, and that’s not supposed to be the point of this.

Scott the incubus, though... 

Maybe that’s just not something that’s supposed to be.

For so long, before, Scott lived in fear of completely subsuming into Angela. Waking up one day and finding there was no more _Scott_ left. But Angela’s the one Herc was in love with, after all. She’s the one he proposed to. She’s the one who carried his baby. She’s the woman who gave Herc’s life - and Scott’s - meaning and purpose and Scott was never anything more than the fuck-up little brother. The incubus with an unhealthy fixation on his own brother’s cock.

Maybe Scott-the-incubus should have died in that military hospital, and Angela should have come back.

Maybe this is what Herc wants.

Hell, how could Herc want anything else?

What's his little brother done but fuck up his life?

“You like me like this?” Scott has to ask, after they’re done, Herc’s orgasm warming him through and Angela’s hair trailing down his shoulders. Herc’s still kissing him - hasn’t stopped, actually, but then, it’s not really his little brother he’s kissing, is it? - and Scott can practically taste the contentment humming through his mind.

“You’re perfect,” Herc murmurs back. “My perfect angel.”

It’s sweet. God, Scott could cry, how sweet it is. It’s all he’s ever wanted and it’s not even his.

He was such a fucking idiot, thinking this - _he_ \- would work. 

“You know,” he replies quietly with Angela’s voice, and smiles her smile, “I love you, ‘Le.”

And Herc just goes back to kissing her.

Balls.

+++++

Being Angela isn’t really a solution either, though.

It’s a matter of public record that Angela Hansen died the day Scissure made landfall. Even worse, it’s a PPDC propaganda talking point . A father/son team fighting to avenge the most important woman in their lives could have come right off the pages of a Hollywood script. It’s crucial to Striker Eureka’s mythos.

Scott refuses to take anything away from his son. Angela coming back has to be done right, and he’s still trying to figure out what _right_ looks like for her.

So he splits the difference. Scott outside the room, Angela inside, a stranger face any time he has to leave the ‘Dome. Which isn’t so bad, because it provides some justification for not leaving the room, which Scott isn’t all that comfortable with anyway.

Things seem better though. 

Herc’s been a lot more attentive since the shower, treating sex like it’s actually about intimacy and not nourishment. Intimacy with Angela, of course, and still nourishment for Scott, and Herc is still hesitating, something subtle still being withheld, but it’s what Scott can get, so it’s what he’ll take. 

The boys are great too, treating him - Angela - like he - she - really is family. Yancy’s there when he can be, helping Scott work through the power stuff - _this would go a lot easier if you’d practice more_. Raleigh, belly swelling now and hormones raging, is eager to soak up every ounce of affection Scott gives him. And Chuck...

“Love you, Mum.”

Yeah. Scott’s happy about hearing that again. 

Makes him feel like there’s a place for him yet.

He’s still having trouble himself, though.

Wakes up in his male body, more often than not. Accidentally shifts on Herc more than once, right in the middle of things. Doesn’t remember to take Scott off when he comes his brother always locks up, questions forming in his mind. 

It’s a difficult balance to strike. Scott does his best. Does everything he can, he really does. But eventually, he comes to the realization that Angela-the-incubus isn’t going to work either.

Because there’s still the little matter of that bond he forced on his brother.

Because he finds an engagement ring in Herc’s sock drawer one morning, Raleigh about seven months along. A ring that’s decidedly not feminine, nor sized to fit Scott’s male hand (and it takes him five minutes to work up the courage to find that out).

All he can conclude is that the ring’s meant for Raleigh. 

Scott is so overwhelmed with the enormity - with the jealousy, the anger, the _loss_ \- that it shatters the neural handshake between Herc and Chuck right now.

In the middle of a training run.


	4. Chapter 4

_Daddy’s done with Medical_

_He’s asking for you_

_Pls come back_

_Daddy’s going from worried to pissed. Where r u?_

That last one doesn’t help at all. Not in the slightest, so Scott turns his phone off and tucks it back in his pocket. Goes back to watching the girls up on stage.

Doesn’t really do anything for him, on the intellectual level, but strip clubs still hold some kind of undercurrent, a scent maybe, that reminds him of food.

Fuck, Scott misses food. He can’t remember the last time it tasted good, but he misses it.

“Metaphor for my whole fucking life,” he grumbles to himself and lights up another cigarette, his untouched drink sweating at his elbow.

“What’s that now?”

Startled by the sound of the American accent, Scott almost drops his cigarette, glancing up to see an unassuming bloke standing on the other side of the small, sticky table. “What’s it to you?”

“Well, I see Scott Hansen by himself in a strip club, four hours after Striker Eureka freezes up out in Sydney Harbor, and I just have to wonder what he’s doing here. Mind if I sit?”

More than a little dumbfounded - he’s not an idiot, he’s not wearing his own face right now - Scott can’t do anything but nod. The bloke smiles, pulls out the chair, giving Scott some time to look him over. Reasonably fit for early fifties, a few old tattoos poking out under the sleeves of his gray t-shirt, close-cropped silver hair, face worn by life but still handsome... something about him feels very familiar, but when Scott pushes out, trying out those skills he’s been struggling to learn, there’s nothing.

The guy just tilts his head to the side, smiling, and taps his temple.

“We’re not so good with each other,” the human says, smile firmly affixed to his lips.

“You aren’t... what are you?” Scott asks, pulling back into himself. It hurts, doing that. Probably a side-effect of the Drift snapping. Fuck, that had hurt, his own agony going off like a capacitor, burning through his mate’s mind. 

“Not an incubus, that’s for damn sure. Pretty new at it, aren’t you? You get bit recently?”

“Don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Scott grunts, not sure how to respond to this. He’s not had the opportunity to meet anyone else outside the family who happens to be... supernatural. Well, Tendo Choi is supposedly a satyr or some shit like that, but he was only ever a voice on the LOCCENT radio.

The other whatever-he-is shrugs. “It’s not. I was just wondering.” And he grins. “Explains a lot about you, prince of the Sydney party scene and all that.”

Scott just grunts again, running a hand through his hair. It’s longer now that it is in his normal form and it takes him a second to remember who he is, what he looks like. Fuck, why is this so hard? When was the last time he was just himself? He feels like he’s nothing but water, slowly coming to a boil, smoking off into nothing. 

“We were all livin’ like that back then,” he says. “Wasn’t a big deal.”

“Must have been fun, dinner coming to you and all.”

“Mate, if you have a point, fucking reach it,” Scott snaps. It’s been a while since he’s had to deal with an awestruck fan; dealing with one who can see who he is, knows what he is, is the last fucking thing he wants to do right now. 

The interloper nods towards the stage. “Girls’ll be changing sets soon. Wanna have some fun?”

Scott breathes in deep. Considers it. He’s still not sure where the boundaries of this mating bond are. Sex isn’t like food - he’s not going to have, like, a seizure or something if he fucks somebody who’s not Herc. Won’t offer him anything in the way of nourishment, and hell, the only person it felt even slightly good with in prison was Yancy...

And didn’t Yancy tell him that bad sex is the incubus equivalent of a bad binge session?

Scott sort of feels like getting roaring pissed right now. But since he can’t do that...

“I don’t know,” Scott says lamely, knowing that’s not the answer an incubus is supposed to give, but nobody said he was good at this, now did they? He reaches for his phone, needing some kind of distraction, a shield between himself and this. “I’m not much into bar sluts these days.”

“There’s always the bartender,” the bloke says, and that smile twists. “Don’t worry about it. I own the place.”

There’s a new message on his phone.

_Goddammit Scott answer me_

Four more under it.

Swallowing, throat suddenly thick, Scott squeezes the button to turn the screen off. “Sure,” he says. “What the hell?”

+++++

“Did he say where he was going?”

“For the last time, no.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, young man...”

“Then stop pacing and sit down.”

Herc glowers at his eldest boy, considering all the ways he can get him to shut the fuck up - including fucking him - but at the same time, he knows Yancy is right. This isn’t accomplishing anything. “Maybe I should go find him,” he grumbles, sinking down onto the cushions next to Yancy anyway.

“Bullshit,” his son reasonably says. “Raleigh’s out checking the ‘Dome, and you know the streets outside are crawling with reporters. You really wanna walk into that, like this, right now?”

“But Scott’s out there somewhere, and...”

“And he’ll come back when he feels like it.”

It’s not just that though. Herc’s been feeling nauseous ever since the Drift broke and wouldn’t reconnect. Training maneuvers in shallow waters, thank god, so it wasn’t much of a problem to get Striker airlifted back to to ‘Dome. But Herc had felt it snap, felt Scott’s...

Actually, he’s not even sure what the name for that emotion was, the one that came raging through his mind, a forest fire burning the Drift to ash. Rage and sadness and loss and love all mixed together. Heartbreak, perhaps. Similar to how he felt when he’d learned Angie had died but less intense.

 _Less intense?_ Herc asks himself, frowning.

Yancy lays his cheek on his daddy’s shoulder. “You love him.”

“Scott? ‘Course I do.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Yancy sighs, and winds his hand through Herc’s, cuddling in. Same way he always does. Always so eager for comfort, for affection, and never shy about claiming it when he wants it. They all do that. 

Except Scott. 

Scott, in the almost two months he’s been here, has never reached out, never taken what he needs. Whatever that might be. Keeps wearing Angela’s body, which is disconcerting at a level Herc doesn’t properly understand. He loved Angie and right now, it’s almost like having her back. Except she can’t come back, and it's not really her anyway. If it ever was _her_. Because the more Scott wears her face, the more Herc realizes that Angela - his wife, the woman he loved, the mother of his son - was a fiction. A shell, a lie, hollow; all the things she was weren't really hers. 

But still, Herc refuses to believe that the love he carries is false. There must be somebody real he carries it for. A connection to complete the circuit. Like electricity.

Except his brother doesn't seem to have any interest in being the object of Herc's affections. Pushes it off onto the shell of Angela while he himself Just keeps drifting further and further away. Vanishing right before Herc’s eyes.

And after today, all that pain that was released, without provocation, seemingly with no reason... Herc needs to understand why. Needs to know how to fix it. Every bone in his body is screaming at him to make this right for his mate, that something is horribly wrong, but he can’t fucking do that if his mate’s not here, now can he?

“So what, love hurts?”

“The face he’s wearing doesn’t matter. It’s still all him underneath. If he wants to wear Angie...”

“This is not about what Scott chooses to look like,” Herc groans, wondering why the boy doesn’t respect his request to stay the hell out of his mind, “but the fact he took off like this.”

Yancy hums a little, but doesn’t say anything else. His tail splays over Herc’s thigh, grounding him, and they stay like that until Raleigh comes back with Chuck from Medical.

Chuck, who looks as much of a mess as Herc feels, despondent, tail dragging and eyes red from crying. “Mum back?” he asks hopefully.

“Not yet, baby,” Herc tells him, and reaches out for their boy. He reckons Scott won’t mind if he shifts his attention for a little while. 

But no matter the weight of Chuck settling in his lap, the sweetness of his kisses and the saltiness of his tears, Herc can’t shake the feeling that Scott is in terrible, terrible trouble.

+++++

“Didn’t realize incubi smoked.”

“Must be a lot of things you don’t realize, mate.”

Back when he was human - or thought he was, and gods this is getting confusing - the nicoteine might have helped the shaking in his hands. As it is, the heat of the smoke is helping burn out the memory of the bartender. Sweet boy, but not at all what Scott wanted, and the fact that the human owner had checked in on him, is checking in on him now, just made it that much more strange.

Still. It hurt, and hurting feels good, as does the roiling sickness in Scott’s stomach. The orgasm couldn’t settle, crawling around in him like a rat in a maze. It wasn’t about hurting Herc or pissing Herc off - although any genuine emotion out of his brother, directed at him instead of Angela, would be a welcome change.

Will Herc be pissed at him for this?

Scott’s not even sure.

“Oh, I know more than you think.” The human shrugs, standing in the doorway of the small break room, half-empty lowball in hand. “Recognized you through the shift, didn’t I?”

“Most humans don’t know about us,” Scott observes from the sofa, and drags the ashtray on the side table closer. At least the smoke’s burning out the taste of that human’s cum. Ghastly, how Herc can taste so good and anyone else tastes so bad. “Care to share how you do?”

“Not a time of my life I like to relive,” the American says, and finishes his drink. 

Scott feels a chill down his spine. “You a hunter?” he asks warily, remembering that conversation with Raleigh that never had a proper conclusion. 

That gets him a more honest answer. “Researcher might be a better word.” The man spreads his fingers, a small spark of green flame rising from his palm. He curls his hand back around it, closing a fist. Smoke leaks out around his knuckles. “Amazing what’s out there in the world.”

“Reckon that’s true,” Scott says, curiosity piqued; Yancy keeps insisting magic is all about illusion and influence, but this looks physically present. Real. Must be how the bloke recognized him. “How’s a man get into that?”

“Monster took my son, long time ago. Opens up a guy’s eyes about all the shit that’s out there in the world.” His voice takes on a wistful tone. “Not that it helps what happened to my boy.”

Scott barely holds in a sympathetic response; he can’t imagine something happening to Chuck, how far he’d go to keep his boy safe, but this bloke is a human, after all. Can’t be entirely trusted, no matter how familiar he feels. 

“Kids change,” he says instead, thinking about how much his Charlie’s changed in the past year. “Grow up, become different people...”

“It’s not like that,” the American says gruffly, and shakes himself. “Look, I’ve got a pretty extensive library upstairs in my office. You want to do any research yourself, let me know.”

Scott considers that. Yancy’s helpful as he can be, but even then, he clearly doesn’t know everything. Huge gaps in his knowledge, both about their own kind and others, and he desperately wants to understand this. Make it real for himself. Find a way to live with it, if he has to live like this. 

He grinds out his cigarette and stands, hands finding the back pockets of his jeans.

“So what do I call you?”

“Rich works,” the American says, and smiles.

+++++

Nobody’s in their quarters, when Scott finally drags back at almost midnight. There’s a note on the table, _dinner with the squadron, be home soon_.

Except they aren’t home. Herc’s not here.

Scott checks the sock drawer again.

Ring’s still there. In a different place though, right where Scott dropped it. 

Hands still shaking a little, Scott wraps it back up and tucks it back in, exactly the way it was.

He takes a shower - a long one, hoping Herc will come back, dreading it - and as he’s drying off afterwards, he realizes he’s wearing his own body.

Hunger and regret gnawing at him, Scott doesn’t have the energy to pull Angie back on.

He curls up on the cot in the spare bedroom instead, the light from the main room casting weird shadows through the slats of the crib.

Scott wants to cry, but he feels too empty to even manage that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a wild plot bunny appears...
> 
> In other news, why hasn't anybody told me that Rob Kazinsky has a new TV series coming out in January? Co-starring along side the DILF actor guy from Suits? With the promises of MASSIVE DADDY ISSUES????????


	5. Chapter 5

“They want you in the sim today,” is what Herc says to him, over breakfast that morning.

Scott almost chokes on his brother’s dick. “What?” he sputters, pulling off. 

Herc sighs, and sets his coffee down, pained. “This shit with the drift breaking yesterday...”

“... was my fault,” Scott finished, feeling physically ill at the thought of drifting with Herc. Not that he doesn’t want to - because he does, he desperately wants the intimacy of that again - but it’s really not a good idea. “I’m the last person they should be testing you against.”

“It’s got to be family. What happens if somebody sees... all this?”

“So what, you’re ashamed of us now?”

“What? No, jesus, it’s a safety issue with Raleigh...”

“Yeah, that’s right. Everything’s about him anymore. How stupid of me to forget,” Scott sneers. 

He’s tired and hungry and in no mood for this bullshit. Herc left him alone all night, all bloody night, on that stupid cot, hasn’t said a word to him about it, hasn’t even asked if he’s doing okay. Not a single thing. Just woke him up this morning and asked if he wanted brekkie. And even at that, the only reason Scott’s the one on his knees right now, getting first suck while Herc eats his damn toast, is out of obligation. 

He is _damn_ tired of it.

He never wanted to be a burden. He just wanted Herc to love him. Why is that so goddamn difficult? Why can’t he have that?

“The fuck has gotten into you?”

“Apparently nothing,” Scott snaps back and gets up, folding his arms under his breasts. “So they need to test you against somebody who isn’t our boy? Take Yancy.”

“Pentecost can make it an order.”

“Pentecost can suck my cock. He ain’t my boss no more.”

Normally, this is where Herc would sit there in stony silence and let Scott storm off, but the damn Beckets have had such a profound effect on him that he actually leans forward and _says something_.

“What’s going on, Scott? Really?”

It’s so out of character, Scott’s not sure how to deal with it. “I broke the drift,” he says lamely.

“Yeah, but why?”

“Why’s it matter?”

“Because you’re hurting” - and yeah, they are definitely into the twilight zone now - “and you sleep in your own body but don’t shift out of... Angela for a moment while you’re awake and... and we’re mated. You owe me an explanation.”

It cuts. Scott pulls back, even as Herc stands up, hand out for him. “Fuck off.” 

“I didn’t mean it that way, Scott.”

“Is this better, somehow?” he demands, shifting back into his own form, waving a hand down himself. “Having this standing here? Your absolute cunt of a little brother? Like him being here makes this easier on you?”

Herc throws up his hands. “Scott, if you, fuck, I don’t know, if you want to talk to a counselor or something about gender identity problems...”

There’s nowhere to go but the bathroom, so that’s where Scott goes. 

Slams the door and doesn’t come out.

Herc doesn’t knock.

Raleigh does, though. About fifteen minutes later. “It’s just me, Scott. Daddy’s gone. Open up?”

Scott’s expecting that normal sweetness, when he cracks open the door.

Instead, he gets a furious young man with his fangs out.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Raleigh hisses. “Daddy lost the drift yesterday, he’s grounded pending medical evaluation, all thanks to you, and you’re going to just shit all over him like that?”

“Raleigh...”

“No! Gods, Scott, don’t you see that everybody else is walking on eggshells with you, trying to make you happy?” He jabs Scott with his tail. “But no matter what we do or say, you just keep pulling away. Have you considered what the fuck that’s doing to Daddy? How painful this is for him?!”

Scott wants to tell him to fuck off. He does. But he’s grown rather fond of the boy over the past few months, and Raleigh is the lover Herc chose, rather than the one that was forced upon him. It doesn’t seem fair to say _but I’m hurting too._ Too selfish, that. He’s desperately trying not to be selfish right now, with the baby on the way and all. 

Raleigh seems to take his indecision as indifference though, which just raises his ire even more. “Whatever, man. Maybe after I deliver and Daddy mates me, that’ll push you far enough out of his head that it won’t bother him much. Plenty of folks in the ‘Dome. Bond lets you feed as long as you’re somewhere nearby. Hell, you could even move out, if that’s what you fucking want. Wouldn’t have to deal with any of us at all.”

“That’s not...” Scott finds his voice. “That’s not what I want.”

“Then get your shit together, Scott.” Raleigh sounds terribly cold. “Because short of breaking that mating bond, you’re stuck with us.”

And that... there’s an idea. “Is that possible?” he asks quietly.

Raleigh stares at him for a moment.

Turns around and leaves the bathroom without saying a word, slamming the door behind him.

Scott stays there for a while longer, hunger boiling for more than Herc’s cock alone, but he fights it down. He wants to be touched, kissed. Wants Herc to lay him down and make love to him, back like they used to... 

_when you were Angela_

Except Herc doesn’t want Angela anymore either, and Scott’s apparently just made things even worse by trying that, which is a terrible predicament, because who in the hell is he supposed to be? 

Hell, what interest in him does Herc even have? Would Herc even keep him around, if it wasn’t for this stupid bond? 

Scott had been so hopeful in the hospital. But it’s all gone to shit now. But maybe it can’t have gone any other way.

He forced this on Herc - forced himself on Herc. And while he’d never meant to hurt his brother, Scott’s not sure if Herc wasn’t right to rip out of the harness and beat him half to death, that last time they drifted together. He _was_ forcing himself on Herc. 

It _was_ rape.

And as much as Scott loves Herc, wants Herc, that... that isn’t who he is. That can’t be who he is.

That realization banging around in his head, Scott manages to pull himself up, get dressed, so find brekkie elsewhere, and head out of the Shatterdome.

He knows exactly where he’s going.

“Rich, sorry to bother you so early in the morning...”

“Not a bother at all. What can I do for you, Scott?”

“Was wondering if I could take a peek at your library.”

“Was wondering when you were going to ask.”

And the human’s smile is so familiar, it makes Scott ache inside.

Scott doesn’t want to leave Herc. Not at all. 

He’s just not sure what else he can do at this point.

Nothing else seems fair.

+++++

Chuck clears his last medical follow-up at 1100.

Nothing at all physically wrong with him; he’s cleared to drift with Daddy again tomorrow morning. Failing that, and they’re probably going to assign him a new co-pilot. Chuck can only hope it’s Yancy. Universally compatible or not - that distinctive family trait - he really doesn’t want anybody who’s not family playing around in his head. Too many things to explain. Too many secrets to share.

The ‘Dome’s chief psychiatrist had plenty of questions about what happened, what Chuck saw and felt, what could have been the cause of the falling out. Chuck had tried to lie, but the head docs are good at parsing out bullshit and the effort of keeping the family secret meant giving up some of the other truths. Chuck knows the problem was on Daddy’s end. He couldn’t feel exactly what it was, but he knows it has something to do with Mum.

Truth be told, it’s been a little crowded in Daddy’s head since Yancy took the bond. There was always a slight background murmur - probably Mum, their slumbering connection - but now it’s like listening to three different people talk at once. When Mum’s feelings screamed out over everyone else’s, there was nothing Chuck could do to hold on.

So he’s not sure if it’s his fault or Daddy’s fault, but they’ll fix it.

They’ll not lose Striker over this.

Mum’ll help. Chuck is confident in that. Mum and Daddy’ll be just fine, they’ll fix this, they’ll be okay again...

At least, that’s what Chuck’s been trying to tell himself all day.

Because he heard that last bit of the exchange Raleigh had with Mum in the bathroom. Had been creeping up, wanting to tell Becket where he could fucking shove it. Yelling at Mum like that... like he has any right. Like he could ever replace Mum in Daddy’s heart. Chuck knows just how upset about this whole situation Daddy is, after all. He’s seen it.

But he never thought Mum would want to leave them.

Never.

Which is why, when he’s done with Medical. Chuck books it down to the gate house and finds himself a chair.

He’s going to fucking be there when Mum comes back form his walkabout.

And sure, it takes six hours before Mum drags back through the Shatterdome gates, and Chuck’s ass has gone sore from so much sitting, but he still launches himself.

Out of his chair he comes, straight into Mum’s arms.

“Hey there sprog, what’s the matter?” Mum asks, pulling him back and looking down at him, like he used to when Chuck was a little boy, scared of the wind in the trees. He flashes his ID at the guard, and they both gets buzzed through, back into the ‘Dome proper. “Have you been waiting here for me?”

Chuck can’t let go, and he can’t keep the fear out of his voice. “Are you gonna leave Daddy?”

“Wha- no.” Mum frowns at him. “Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you told Raleigh this morning,” Chuck replies.

“It’s hard on your daddy, me being back like I am,” Mum says, and he’s prodding Chuck off in the general direction of home. “That’s all this is.”

“But it’s hard on you too,” Chuck points out. Reasonably, he thinks. 

“Your daddy’s the one who matters here...”

“Bullshit. You’re the one who almost died!”

Mum just sighs that exasperated sigh of his - which is exactly like Daddy’s - and puts an arm around Chuck’s shoulders. “Baby boy, I’m your mum and your daddy’s brother and I promise you, until you both want me gone, I’m going to do my damnedest to make you both happy. Fair?”

Slightly mollified, Chuck shrugs. “I guess,” he says, and presses closer.

“Love you, Charlie,” Mum tells him.

Chuck smiles up at him. “Can we fuck when we get back?”

“Anything you want, sprog. Anything at all.”

But Chuck can’t coax Mum back into the nest when they get back, or at all that night, and as cranky as it makes Daddy, Chuck takes his favorite blanket and packs it into the nursery.

He doesn’t give Mum an inch of room to protest. Just snugs up to him on the tiny cot, so close he can feel Mum’s breath ghosting over his neck, and wriggles around until he finds just the right place in Mum’s arms. Mum, for his part, takes the hint and drapes the blanket over them both.

“You’re a brat,” 

Mum hasn’t shifted back into his female form at all today. Means he’s not as curvy-soft, but the hard muscle of that male body are perfect. 

As he’s drifting off, Chuck sleepily hopes Mum will still be male when they wake up. 

There have been so many necessary falsehoods between them all for so long, Mum losing so much of himself, it’s about time Mum started being comfortable in his own skin again. Mum deserves that. 

Feeling happy for somebody else is a bit of a new sensation, but Chuck loves his mum with all his heart. Makes him feel good, to know Mum feels good.

Daddy - and Raleigh for that matter, hormones or not - needs to stop being such a cranky bastard about it all.

+++++

The first day or two of testing goes okay, right up to the point where they stick Herc back in a real conn-pod with Chuck.

It fails again.

He goes over the results with Tendo and some of the senior techs, their analysis matching his own concerns. There’s nothing wrong with his MRI scans, blood work shows nothing but elevated testosterone levels, he can still feel Chuck’s mind against his own when the Pons whirrs to life, but they can’t establish a connection about the minimum thresholds.

“Third one comes to me for my personal review,” Stacker tells him via encrypted video chat. “Herc, if you have any ideas...”

“I’ve got a lot of my plate right now,” Herc sighs. “It’s probably just stress.”

He has other theories, of course. Universal compatibility meant spending a few months as a PPDC guinea pig, back in the early days of the program. Too many drifts, too close together, with too many partners. Herc remembers what it was like, carrying all that. Two or three ghost drifts at once, sometimes, and those days were the ones where the drift would hold at lower thresholds, 85% instead of 90%, shit like that.

These days, though, it’s not ghost drifting he’s dealing with.

He has three incubi in his head. All the time.

What’s a mechanical connection compared to that beautiful thing? 

“Stress or not, Herc, I may not be able to keep you in the conn-pod.” Stacker hesitates, shuffling out a folder from the stack on the empty conference room table. “They tested Chuck with a different partner yesterday, did they not?”

“Yancy Becket, and yes, you fucking know that.”

“It was a clean handshake. Ninety-five percent. That’s near miraculous for an unrelated pairing.”

Like Herc’s going to get into that story. “Chuck’s likely got my genetic disposition.”

“Regardless of the cause, Yancy Becket is an exceptional pilot...”

“...who could step into my shoes, if need be.” Herc shakes his head. “I’m not ready to be grounded in this damn war yet, Stacker.”

“I know, Herc. I know. But you and I both understand how it is. At some point, us old men have to step out of the way and let the young lads take the front-line jobs.”

Herc cocks his head. “You offering me a command billet?”

“Nothing’s official yet, but I have spoken to the current installation commander in Sydney. He’s well past retirement age and he’s no jaeger piloting experience. I’ve been looking for an excuse for the past year or so.” Stacker smiles a little. “Didn’t want to pull my best pilot out of the conn-pod, though.”

Herc grunts. “Let me think about it.”

“Don’t think too hard. This’ll hit the news cycle sooner or later. We need to stay in front of it. Right now, we control the story. ”

“Roger that,” Herc replies, and Stacker closes the connection.

That night, Herc puts it out to the family, Yancy curled up against him and Raleigh tucked under his arm, swollen belly under Herc’s careful fingers. Chuck’s been a bit distant the last few days, ever since Scott started sleeping in the other room, and Herc doesn’t need the ghost drift - or the bond for that matter - to know the boy blames him for that. He’s snuggled up to Scott’s chest on the other end of their huge new sectional, eyes closed, deliberately ignoring both the TV and the Beckets’ quiet chatter.

“Yance, Chuck,” Herc begins.

One of the boys perks - “yes, daddy?” - and the other one just grunts.

Fuck it. Herc’s damn tired of trying to figure out these moods. Fortunately, things seem to pass pretty quickly with incubi, Scott’s week-long silence notwithstanding. Even that’s probably Herc’s fault, suggesting a head-doc and all, but he still has no idea how to apologize, much less explain. He doesn’t know what’s _wrong_ , and it’s driving him mad.

“Boys, the Marshall phoned me today. Offered me command of the Shatterdome here in Sydney.”

Chuck sits up at that. “But...”

“If Yancy’s willing, I think you boys could make a fine team in Striker.”

Yancy and Chuck look at each other, Chuck scooting forward a little. “But Daddy...”

Herc holds up a hand. “With everything going on here in our family, I think it’s for the best.”

“But you love piloting,” Scott says quietly, surprising them all. It’s the first time he’s spoken to Herc in... hell, almost three days. And he sounds _gutted_. At least it’s still his male voice, though. Angela hasn’t made an appearance since the morning Herc called him out on it. Herc’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing for Scott, but it’s certainly doing him a world of good. “You love being in the conn-pod, Herc.”

“Nobody stays in the cockpit forever. I’ve managed a fair bit longer than I would have in the RAAF,” Herc tells him, and reaches out to pat his foot, the only part of him that’s close enough to touch. “It’s alright, love.”

“But it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.” And Herc’s got a whole honest speech planned - he’s really trying to do better at this talking thing, with Yancy continually insisting how important it is and all - about how being the ‘Dome commander is a good thing. The level of influence and authority alone ought to mean nobody will ever question his boys again, that he can control the news about the baby 

Scott doesn’t stick around to listen.

Instead, his shoulders sag and Chuck’s pushed out of his lap and he’s halfway to the bedroom before Herc can gather himself enough to protest.

“Scott?” he asks, turning around the back of the sofa.

Scott shrugs. “Don’t much feel like rugby tonight, ‘Le.”

The way he says the old nickname damn near breaks Herc’s heart, and Yancy’s glaring at him as he settles back down.

“You should talk to him,” his boy says.

“Tried that,” Herc grumbles, and turns up the volume on the TV.

Fuck, he loves Scott so much, but he’s got no idea how to get through this wall that’s come up between them. Scott’s an expert at this point in keeping him out; until he decides to let Herc in, Herc’s not real sure what he can do. That's one of the reasons he wanted to drift with Scott a few days back. Get some insight. Figure it out, without words. He's so terrible with words.

Scott’s still here, though. Scott hasn’t run off on him. And no matter how strained things are between them, Herc firmly believes that as long as Scott isn’t following that old pattern of running from him - because what was Angela, but Scott running? - they’ve still got a chance to work this out.

Whatever the fuck this is.

+++++

“You know,” Rich tells him, one rainy afternoon, a few days later, “this would go a lot easier if you’d tell me what we’re looking for.”

It catches Scott off-guard, lost as he is in some account about mermaids. He knows he needs to stay on task, keep to his mission, but he can’t. There’s so much beautiful distraction here. It’s fascinating what’s out in there in the world, how many things live beyond the scope of average human knowledge. The kaijuu might be the first monsters widely acknowledged in modern times as real, but there is so, so much more out there. 

Sad as it is, it makes him feel less alone, less freakish, than even the boys do.

Scott’s always triangulated the meaning of his own existence based off of his older brother, gauging the things he wants against what Herc might want from him, but knowing there’s other creatures out there like him, living their own lives for their own purposes, makes Scott feel like he could survive this. Find his own place in the world. Not have to indulge the black hole of guilt gnawing away at his insides. Be... distinct.

And he needs to be that now. For Herc. So Herc doesn’t lose Striker Eureka. 

“Incubus magic,” he says absently and closes the book, one slender finger holding his place. “Don’t seem to have too much on it.”

“Anything specific?”

Scott chews on the inside of his cheek. Couldn’t do any harm, could it? Being honest? Rich has been fairly above the board with him, even if Scott’s beginning to suspect the human’s asexual; he hasn’t heard so much as a murmur of thought from him. “Mating bonds,” he decides to offer.

Rich tenses a bit. “You mean enslavement spells?”

Something inside Scott freezes up. _Enslavement_. Gods, is that what he’s done to Herc? Scott shakes his head. “I’ve not heard it put that way.”

“Well trust me, that’s what it is.” 

“I’ve got a bond I need to break,” he says quietly. “I... it was an accident.”

“So what, you care about the human?”

“No, it’s just damn inconvenient and I want it gone,” Scott lies. He’d actually like nothing more than to curl up and die right about now. Enslavement magic. No wonder everything’s gone to hell between him and Herc. “Do you have anything that can tell me how to do it?”

Rich doesn’t move for a moment, and then, as if he’s making a hard decision, heads over to the shelves behind the club’s small, battered desk, pulling out a thin tome that looks more like an old Moleskine than a proper published manuscript. “Got this off a buddy of mine who works for the Men of Letters in Britain.”

“What’s that?” Scott asks, eyes on the book.

“Kind of like the Freemasons with less gnosticism, from what I’m told.” He keeps his distance, careful, handling the book like it could bite him. “He did a study on breaking incubus magic. It’s an interesting read, actually.”

“That’s great, mate. Care to share?”

Rich shrugs, and comes back over, book in hand. There’s power in it, Scott can tell. The little thing is practically vibrating with it. Most of the books in here have some sense of influence clinging to them, but those are house cats compared to the tiger that’s roaring within those pages. “I have to warn you though, spells like that are almost impossible to break.”

“I’ll take those odds,” Scott says, reaching for it.

Rich pulls it back. “It’s an intimate magic, tied directly to an incubus’ lifeforce. The only way it dissipates is if the incubus is gone.”

Scott doesn’t budge. “Like what, it fucking moves away?”

“If it dies,” and Rich finally, finally, offers him the damn thing, “or if it reverts to human.”

For a moment, Scott can’t breathe. Being an incubus... it’s all he is, all he known. Being an incubus is what allowed him to have a son and watch him grow up, as demented as it is, and it’s what secured him a place by his brother’s side and in his brother’s bed, no matter all the lies between them, and family matters aside, he’s starting to feel _right_. 

But this is about Herc. Doing what’s right for Herc. And Herc’s chosen the boys, Raleigh, a new family, and maybe the best thing Scott could do for them all is get out of the way. Make room. 

It wouldn’t mean breaking his promise to Chuck, would it? He could still be a part of his life if he was human. He’s always been bisexual, so that wouldn’t change; the sex could still be there and that would be better for Chuck, in a way, wouldn’t it now, because the duties of making sure everyone’s fed wouldn’t fall to Herc alone, so they could still have sex, could still be intimate with his family the way family ought to be, and...

“This is some rough shit, Scott. I can help you, I’m gonna have to help you, but if you don’t want to...”

“No,” Scott says, and takes the book. “No, I want.”


	6. Chapter 6

Rich is right; this isn’t an easy spell. Scott’s still learning to read most of the annotations; spell work more closely resemble computer programming language than Latin or Greek, like he was half-expecting. Everything in Rich’s book is written in a weird mix of English, physics symbols, and something else that he says is angelic.

Because angels are real. Apparently.

It’s not easy, but the longer he leafs through it, the more sense it makes. Not that he could rightly explain it with words or anything like that. This is meant to be felt, not spoken, and once Scott figures that out, things flow a lot quicker. He can see the way he’s supposed to twist the magic.

He can also see where his limits are. It’s sort of like hitting a high note in a song; he can feel the shape of it in his throat, but actually forming it is impossible. He just can’t do many of the things that Rich can. Illusion seems to be the province of his kind; only humans can actually alter physical reality, and it makes sense that Rich needs to help him make this happen.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Yancy asks him one night, a few days before Rich says he’ll be ready to perform the spell.

Startled, Scott barely manages to slam his note book shut. He can’t do anything about all the reference material he’s got spread around, but that, at least, he can hide. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Yancy says and, without asking permission, slips into the seat across from him. “Can I see?”

“No.”

Yancy cocks his head. “Looked like math stuff. You taking a class or something?”

“Just running some of the numbers on Striker’s Pons system,” Scott lies. “Been wondering about the calibration thresholds. If those are off...”

“Daddy wants the promotion,” Yancy interrupts, and lays a hand over Scott’s. “It’s good for him and he wants it.”

Scott doesn’t have the heart to shove Yancy off. The contact feel too good, after a week of sleeping by himself, and he wonders if touch will feel the same, after he fixes this fuck-up of his. “This isn’t about Herc.”

“Or do you not trust me with Chuck?”

“I trust you with Chuck...”

“So stop worrying about this,” Yancy says, and fuck, how’d he get the notebook? “Hey, wait, this is spell stuff?”

Scott’s heart leaps into his throat. “Umm...”

“Gods, this is dense.” Yancy squints at it. “What language is this?”

“Enochian,” Scott tells him, relieved Yancy doesn’t recognize it, much less know how to read it. 

“And where’d you even find this?” Yancy asks, tone growing dark. “Is this what you’ve been doing during the day, out there in the city?”

“The fuck difference does it make to you, Becket?” Scott snaps, and takes the notebook away again, tucking it into a pocket in the inside of his vest. Herc’s vest, actually, that old Lucky Seven denim thing. They got his stuff out of storage, back when he first showed up, but there’s something comforting about wearing Herc’s clothes, smelling his scent. Will he still be able to smell that when he’s human? Will he still want to?

“Magic’s nothing to be screwing around with.”

“Yeah, well, I found somebody who was willing to help.”

“Found somebody?” Yancy frowns. “Like who?”

“What do you care?”

“Is he human?”

“Does it matter?”

Yancy taps a finger against the table. “There are plenty of humans out there who’d like to hurt people like us.”

Scott snorts. “We’re not people, Yance.”

Yancy doesn’t say anything for a little while, but stands up, comes over, bends down to give Scott a kiss. “Just be careful. Didn’t save you to see you fuck yourself up again.”

“Sod off, Becket.”

“You want me to help you check this guy out?”

It’s frustrating, how Yancy seems to be the only one in the family completely unfazed by Scott’s insults. How he doesn’t just leave when he’s supposed to.

So Scott gathers up the rest of his crap, stuffs it back in his laptop bag, and leaves.

Spends the night downtown, at Rich’s place, instead.

+++++

“Thought you guys couldn’t function away from your slaves,” Rich says conversationally. “Never known an incubus to willingly spend the night away from their meal source.”

They’re up on the roof of the strip club, Scott working on his second cigarette and Rich nursing a giant mug of coffee. It’s not quite dawn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. It’s going to be another muggy day, but Scott just feels cold inside.

He remembers how empty he used to feel, the nights when he wasn’t there with Herc. Is this what he’s going to feel like all the time, after the change? Alone? Vacant? 

But if this is the price of giving Herc the life he wants...

“I don’t see him that way,” Scott says, the words coming out more morose than he wanted them to. “That’s not what he is.”

“So what, you care about the guy now?”

“He’s a person, same as anyone else. Doesn’t seem fair to him, keeping him cooped up in...” Scott sighs and squints down at his cigarette. “Whatever the fuck it is I did to him.”

Rich snorts. “No offense, but you’re the first incubus I’ve ever met who took that attitude towards a human.”

“Really?”

“Your kind is incapable of genuine affection,” Rich says. “Believe me, I know. It’s going to be so much better for you when you’re done with this.”

“When I’m human?”

“Think about it. No more hiding, no more lying to everyone. You won’t have to pretend with your brother and your nephew anymore, won’t have to worry about molesting one of them...”

“What do you mean?” Scott asks, unable to stop himself from asking.

Rich snorts. “You really think anybody wants their brother fucking them? Yeah, yeah, I know that’s how incubi operate, preying on their family members, but incest? That’s not normal. In fact, it’s about as fucked up as it gets. It’s a sign that’s something’s gone horrifically wrong. It’s all Stockholm Syndrome and mind control and... no, all that’s going to be gone.”

“I’d never hurt my brother,” Scott protests weakly, unable to summon any force behind the words. Because while it’s true, while he’d never intentionally hurt Herc, he has been, hasn’t he? His very presence is an injury. 

“I’m not saying that you have,” Rich says, careful. “But you can’t tell me you haven’t been tempted.”

Scott can’t meet the human’s eyes; he’s terrified of what he might see. “How do you know so much about this, anyway?”

Rich sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got the time,” Scott says, somewhat hopeful. If he’s going to do this, he’d at least like to know a little bit more about this American. He trust him - it’s that familiarity - but Yancy’s not one to waste words, and the boy’s been right about everything else so far.

“And I need to get some sleep,” Rich says, covering a yawn with a half-closed fist, stepping away. 

“I could come,” Scott says quickly, following.

But Rich just turns on him. Glares. “What do you mean?”

“We might as well,” Scott says, holding his ground. “That spell has to be worked mid-fuck, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

Scott pulls out his notebook, flipping to the last page he was working on. “This equation, the one with that Enochian symbol you couldn’t read?”

“Yeah?”

“Angels can’t have sex, right? Or at least, that’s the myth, that they aren’t allowed to. So they wouldn’t have a word for it. I found this one in another of those reference books you’ve got. It’s the proper name for a Nephilim, and since it’s marked as a derivative...”

“...so that would be sex,” Rich mutters, scanning Scott’s scratchy handwriting. “Fuck, I’ve never... wouldn’t have figured that out.”

More proud of himself than he should be, Scott tucks the book back into his vest. “You ever slept with another bloke before, Rich?”

“I consider myself straight, thanks.”

“You still willing to do this?”

“I didn’t say I’ve never had my dick up another guy’s ass, did I?” Rich rubs a tired hand through his hair. “But we are not doin’ it this morning.”

“I’m running out of time here,” Scott says honestly; Chuck and Yancy’s first live-fire trial run in Striker Eureka is on Wednesday, and the press release is scheduled for the Monday morning news cycle. Three days before it hits. He needs to get this thing done before then, so Herc doesn’t have to trade in the drive suit for dress blues. Needs to finish this before he chickens out. Herc deserves that much from him. “If it’s too much to ask...”

“No, we’re fine. It’s fine,” Rich says, taking a deep breath. “I need at least another twelve hours of fasting to pull this off. Tonight work for you?”

“It’s a date,” Scott says, smiling with an enthusiasm he doesn’t feel.

“Yeah, well, you aren’t the one who has to get in bed with a fucking incubus,” Rich grumbles. “Be here right after dark. Don’t you dare be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Scott says and, on impulse, gives Rich a hug, kisses him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Rich shoves him off, glaring. “Scott, out.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I’m gone.”

On his way back to the ‘Dome, Scott runs over all the permutations of this in his head, all the ways it could go wrong or things that might happen tonight. But really, though, Rich’s words, _incest_ , won’t stop banging around in his brain. 

Scott knows he was never human. Even as a kid, he was still sort of a nascent incubus. He might have imagined he was human, pretended he felt human, but he doesn’t know a damn thing about about to _be_ human. It’s entirely possible that Rich is right, that fucking his brother - or his son - is something that will make him physically ill, this time tomorrow. 

He can’t leave Chuck. But if he has to go back to just being his uncle, if he has to unlearn all these things he’s been so carefully exploring the past few months, then he wants a few more hours with his boy, just the way he is now.

If Rich is right, it’ll be a horrible memory tomorrow.

If Rich is right, then everything Scott feels now for his precious baby boy is false, hollow, an echo of genuine emotion. 

But Scott can’t believe that he’s incapable of love.

If he was, why would he be doing this in the first place?

+++++

With Yancy stuck in Life Support, going over harness measurements and slide rail balances for Striker, Chuck comes back from the Kwoon to an empty room and a rumbling tummy. Herc’s off with Raleigh at some medical appointment, an ultrasound, if Chuck remembers rightly. Means there’ll be another black and white scan of his little brother on the TV stand tonight, and won’t that be lovely? Chuck’s really looking forward to meeting him, he really is. Now Mum and Daddy just need to get over their silly bullshit and everything’s going to be...

“Hey, sprog.”

Chuck almost jumps at the sound of Mum’s voice. He’s grown used to Mum being gone during the day, off on his walkabouts, wherever it is he goes. Yancy said today that Mum’s been working on research into incubus magic, which is just fine with Chuck, as long as Mum teaches him some of it later. Learning more magic would be ace.

It’s also a rarity these days to find Mum so obviously waiting for him.

“Mum!” Chuck says excitedly, and strips off his sweaty vest top, leaving it on the ground behind him as he pads towards where Mum’s leaning on the jamb of the bedroom, wearing in nothing but a pair of Daddy’s old flannel pants. But then he remembers. “Oh.”

“What?” Mum asks, reaching out for him.

Chuck can’t help the way he keens into that touch. “Daddy’s mad at you.”

“Cause I didn’t come home last night?”

“I’m mad at you too,” he says, with a conviction he doesn’t feel anymore. Sure, he was upset he didn’t get to fall asleep in his mum’s arms last night, but’s impossible to stay angry when _Mum’s actually here_. “It was a dick move,” he adds less strongly, using one of Raleigh’s favorite phrases.

“Language,” Mum grumbles, but pulls him in for a kiss anyway. It’s slow and sweet, so gentle, the feel of Mum’s calloused thumb against his cheek shivery-good, but that taste...

“You taste like Yancy,” Chuck says, pulling back. “You see him or something?”

Mum shrugs. “Don’t worry about that, okay baby?” He kisses him again, and no, it’s not Yancy. Like Yancy, but not quite. Older maybe, or... “It’s just you and me here right now, hmm? Haven’t gotten nearly enough time with my boy as I should have.”

Chuck nods. “Yeah, no shit.”

Mum chuckles and pulls him close. “I love you so much. You know that, Charlie? How much I love you?”

“Yeah,” Chuck says confidently, and smiles his best smile, coiling his tail around his mother’s leg. Mum hasn’t fucked him in weeks, and his cock is getting hard and it would be so lovely, so lovely indeed. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Mum lets his wings flutter out and his tail curl out, pushing the sleep pants he’s wearing from his hips, and he’s half hard already against Chuck’s thigh and isn’t that a lovely sight? Mum actually wearing the incubus. He looks even more devastatingly handsome with fangs and horns and all that out. Looks exactly the way he’s supposed to be.

Maybe he’s feeling better about things, Chuck hopes. Maybe this means he’ll start sleeping with the family again and Chuck won’t have to sleep on the cot and Daddy will forgive him and everything will be the way it’s supposed to be.

That’s all Chuck really wants. 

His Mum back.

“Cheeky cunt,” Mum teases gently. 

Chuck grins and steps back into the nest, tugging his mum with him. “So why don’t you get down here and fuck it, Mummy?”

“Charlie baby...”

“Come on,” Chuck chants, feeling better about things than he has since Hawaii, going down on all fours and smiling back over his shoulders. “Fuck your little boy’s pussy.”

Chuck finds something new out about Mum today.

He is _amazing_ when his self-control snaps.

They’ll have to do this more often.

Hell, they should do this every day. And if Mum’s finally comfortable being an incubus, maybe they can.

+++++

Herc comes back to the room, Raleigh tucked proudly against him, to the sound of laughter.

Chuck’s.

And Scott’s.

It’s been so long since he’s heard Scott laugh like that, it stops Herc cold.

“Daddy?” Raleigh asks, looking up at him, the envelop with their latest round of baby pictures in his hand. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” and Herc kisses his cheek, pats his ass. “Why don’t you go start the shower, get all that crap off your belly?”

“You comin’?”

“In a minute.”

A firm little swat gets Raleigh going, and Herc heads over to the bedroom, wanting to see exactly what all that giggling’s about.

And there his boys are, Chuck on his back and Scott slotted up between his legs, a hickey rising on Chuck’s shoulder and Scott’s forehead on his chest, both of them helplessly lost in their mirth.

Scott’s wings are out. Dark charcoal now, instead of that dead-ash black of the hospital. 

The ship has long sailed on any kind of worries about how screwed up this is. 

Right now, Herc feels nothing but gratitude.

At the end of the day, all he wants is for Scott to be happy. His little brother’s been through so much, he deserves that.

“Mind if I ask?” he interrupts, smiling as he asks, and two sets of achingly similar grey-green eyes shoot up to meet him.

Chuck beams at him. “Hey Daddy!”

“Wouldn’t make any sense,” Scott chuckles. “He had a lot more hickies before and...”

“Mum was making pictures with them,” Chuck finishes, and writhes a little, sliding his legs up Scott’s sides. “Wanna see?”

“Let me get Raleigh cleaned up first,” Herc promises, the tension he’s been carrying since Hawaii stating to unwind at the sight in front of him. Like whatever Scott’s been dealing with has finally been resolved. “Yancy should be back soon too, we’ll make an afternoon of it.”

“Sounds brilliant, Daddy.”

“Got some baby pictures too. He’s getting bigger.”

“Can we name him Max?”

Scott’s smile changes a little, which Herc doesn’t miss. Yeah, he knows what’s up with that. He’s the one - in his capacity as uncle, of course - who took Chuck to that midnight showing of _Fury Road_ , back when Hollywood still thought post-apocalyptic action flicks were cute. It’s evidently still the sprog’s favorite movie.

“Maybe,” Herc allows, and bends down to give his son’s knee a pat, exchange a kiss with Scott. It’s slower than it needs to be, but deep, full of emotion, and for a glorious moment, Herc can feel the full strength of what binds them; co-pilots, mates, brothers. 

_love you Herc would do anything for you and our boys even if..._

And then Scott pulls back, breaking the stream, and pats Herc’s cheek. “Go take care of your baby mama in there,” he murmurs.

“Don’t you dare run off on me,” Herc tries to tease.

Scott’s tail flicks. “Wherever you want me, however you need me.”

It sounds like a promise, and Herc couldn’t love him more.

+++++

Scott’s just getting dressed, when Yancy finally shows back up. “Where you off to?” the kid asks, not quite moving out of the way of the door. “Broke Chuck’s heart when you didn’t come home last night.”

“We’ve had an afternoon,” Scott says flatly. 

“Seriously, man...”

“Just a bit of magic practice, Yance,” he sighs, and tries to push past. Herc’s still in the shower; he needs to get out of here. Now. If he doesn’t, he’ll go back to bed and let Herc screw his brains out and spend the rest of his life trying to pretend that Herc wants it too. _Enslavement_. He can’t do that to his brother, he just can’t. “Nothing to be worried about.”

But Yancy deliberately steps in front of him now. “Is it magic that can only be worked at a certain time of night?”

“That something to worry about?”

“Is that what’s going on?”

The boy looks worried, and Scott wonders when, exactly, he started thinking of Yancy as his own son. When he started loving the boy - because he does, he thinks. At least it feels like love, on the same level that he loves Chuck and in the same way. Except he can’t love, so whatever this is...

“That’s not what’s going on,” Scott reassures him honestly, because Rich had said nothing about it _needing_ to be done at night. “But I do have an appointment to keep.”

Yancy lays a hand on his chest. “I know this whole thing sucks for you, and I know it’s my fault you’re dealing with this. But,” and he smiles, fingers twining in Scott’s shirt, “can’t be all bad, can it? 

Scott shakes his head, and peels Yancy’s hand off of him. He needs to get out of here. Right now. Before he starts letting himself believe any of this shit. Before he lets himself feel just how good this afternoon was, how easy everything could be if he just let go and let himself be. Because he can’t let go, can’t keep doing this to his brother, can’t continue being a monster. The family needs him to be different. Herc needs him to be different. 

“I gotta go.”

+++++

He’s still a few minutes late to the strip club, which Rich is quick to point out as he leads them both down a side hallway to a room Scott didn’t know existed. Small and tight, no windows, a rudimentary bed set up in the center of the room, the architectural framework of the spell painted in white on the floor around. There’s only a few candles lit, off in the corners of the room, the only thing in the space besides the bed. The ever-present throb of music from the stage vanishes the moment the door closes.

It’s only then that Scott notices the silver handcuffs on the white sheets.

The leather gag.

“Nothing in the spell about that,” he says, nerves riling in his stomach again. If he has a stomach. Scott’s not sure of anything these days. He tries to shake the worry - he’s going to be human soon, he’ll definitely have a stomach then - and starts working on his clothes.

“For my safety and yours,” Rich says, making no move to strip yet. “We don’t know how it’s going to go. If you fight it, I don’t want to get bit.”

“It’s not so bad,” Scott says quietly, thinking about Chuck, this afternoon. Gods, that had been wonderful. Chuck was wonderful. Such a sweet, vicious, happy boy. “Really.”

“You aren’t getting cold feet on me, are you?”

“No! No, of course not.”

“Then get naked and get up there. Let’s get this shit over with.”

“Thanks for helping me,” Scott says, kicking his pants off. “I don’t know why you’re doing it, but...”

“Don’t worry about it. Only thing that matters is making sure you’re doing the right thing by your brother, right?”

“Yeah...”

“Then come on.” Rich holds up one of the handcuffs. “Let’s get started.”

Scott studied his notes again, on the train ride over here. He knows every inch of this spell, everything that’s supposed to happen, what he needs to offer and where he needs to cut. Rich’s role is fairly minimal - the contribution of cum, mostly, as well as a few other things Scott couldn’t fully research. Rich didn’t want him taking that Moleskine out of the office. 

All in all, though, it doesn’t feel like sex.

It feels like surgery. Performed without anesthetics. 

But even that’s bearable. What’s not are the flashes of the past he’s getting - weaker and fainter - from the human between his bound legs. A dark room draped in velvet and the sounds of pain melting into pleasure, a blonde girl with the sweetest smile, dressed in nothing but a black leather corset and a set of pasties, taking his hand, leading him away. Holding up a serious little toddler to the glass in a hospital, whispering to him _there’s your little brother_. Long hair falling in her face as she straddles him, dick gone flaccid, _I thought you’d still love me,_ as her eyes don’t lift to... _what the fuck did you do to our kids_... young body under his and hate, hate for how good it... blood on the ground, body fallen... the scent of... another failure, has to work, have to get him...

And just as all that retreats into the distance, back behind the space where dreams are born, Scott falls into...

“We’re not supposed to have guests in the barracks,” his big brother is telling him, almost apologetic, “but I don’t think they’ll mind tonight.”

Herc’s arms are strong, grounding him after the last few horrible days. “Thanks,” he mumbles into his brother’s shoulder. He knows he should be ashamed of the way he’s letting Herc practically carry him up the stairs, but Scott can’t summon the energy to worry about it. 

“The old man’s always been a wanker, but I never imagined it’d come to this. What happened?” Herc asks carefully, and Scott can’t remember the last time either of them have strung so many words together at one time. When Herc was last so careful with him.

“Don’t remember,” Scott says, clinging to his brother’s uniform. He smells so good like this. Smells like home. “Don’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, no shit,” and Herc shifts him over to his other side, digging a key out of his pocket. “Don’t worry. I took a few days’ leave. We’ll figure it out.”

“They’ll let you out?”

“I need to file some paperwork, get you listed as a dependent, get you an ID so you can come and go on base...”

“Oi, I’m not some little kid!”

“Can’t be on your own at fourteen. Don’t worry ‘bout it, Scotty. I’m gonna take care of you now.” And Herc hugs him. “Shouldn’t have left you with the old bastard so long as it was.”

The urge to kiss his brother back is almost overwhelming, so Scott shoves Herc off, trying not to shake with whatever it is that’s vibrating inside of him. “Don’t gotta,” he grumbles.

“I wanna.” And Herc opens the door. “Stop bitching and get in here. Need to get you a change of clothes. You smell like Afghanistan.”

Scott almost taps out at that. To his shame, he almost does. 

But Rich stops, wipes his face, gentle in a way the man usually isn’t, and tells him what he needs to hear - _I need you to do this, Scott. Stay focused, don’t lose the magic. Focus and do this for me, okay?_ \- and things resume.

By the time Rich pulls out, Scott’s got no idea how much time has passed. He can barely feel his hands or feet, sensation fled under the force of straining against the unyielding metal cuffs. He’s more tired than he can ever remember being, even that day in hospital when Herc came to see him after...

His stomach twists up tightly. 

Oh god, he fucked his brother, he fucked his _son_ and loved it, but...

_...but you love them, you love him so much and they love you, only way Charlie exists is because you love Herc..._

And reflexively, Scott pushes out, reaches out, mind seeking that thing like the ghost drift, knowing he can still feel the ghost drift if it’s there, if he’s human, wanting the reassurance of his brother’s mind against his own, whispering to him...

But there’s only silence. 

There’s nothing in his head but silence.

Herc’s gone. 

Herc’s gone.

And while his body might ache from what he just put it through, the strain of the transformation, it’s in that moment that Scott realizes that it wasn’t the tattoo or Chuck or Angela that connected him to his brother; ever since the day after Herc brought him home, he’s never been alone in his own head. 

Herc’s always been there. Herc's always _wanted_ to be there.

But Herc’s gone now.

But he tore Herc out.

It feels like his soul is missing.

Scott can’t even summon the energy to cry, even though he wants to. The magic of the change is still settling; he has a mental flash of his wings burning off, and all he can do against it is close his eyes. 

“How you feeling there, Scott? Human?” 

Rich. Scott had almost forgotten about him, and he cracks moisture-thick eyelashes slowly. “Sure, human and terrib-,” he starts to say.

And stops cold.

Because instead of the handcuff keys, Rich is holding Scott’s own cell phone in one hand, and a gun in the other.

A gun that’s trained straight on him.

“That’s fantastic. So glad to see somebody finally lived through it,” Rich says, and there’s a manic edge to his happy tone. “Now I’m gonna need you to make a phone call for me.”

Blinking, trying to understand what the hell is going on, Scott makes the mistake of not just telling him to go fuck himself. “Who?”

“Raleigh.”


	7. Chapter 7

Raleigh’s got a hand on his belly as he watches TV, only paying attention in passing to the show that’s playing on the PPDC channel. Highlights from that 24/7 contest thing the Japanese are airing right now; six people dropped on an isolated island with no contact other than what fake media the producers are pumping out to them, operating under the assumption that the kaijuu have wiped out most of the Pacific. Why it’s popular, Raleigh’s got no idea, but apparently, it’s been sweeping the ratings for the past year. 

It’s background noise, the sound of rapid-fire Japanese soothing somehow. Reminds him of that year they spent in Tokyo back when he and Yancy were just kids, before either of them changed. For Dad’s - Richard’s - work.

Background noise, so Raleigh can focus on what he really cares about. 

Little movements. All those kicks. The fluttering thoughts, dim and quiet, just on the edge of where he can reach. 

Thirty-two weeks along, the doctors think, and Raleigh’s got mixed feelings about giving birth. On one hand, it’s going to be great not to be fat anymore, for his back to stop hurting and all these weird discharges to stop and to be able to sleep curled up against Daddy - he’s had to start sleeping sitting up this week, and it’s, like, serious bullshit. 

On the other hand though, it’s Daddy’s son he’s carrying, and Daddy has been even more doting and loving than he normally is, Yancy super concerned and Chuck deferential and sure, maybe Raleigh likes being the center of attention. Nothing wrong with that. 

But more than just that, it makes him feel too like he’s got a family again, like there’s a future. Before meeting Daddy, all he really had to look forward to in life was fighting alien sea monsters and fucking humans with Yancy. Now, everything seems imbued with meaning. He’s going to be a mom, he’s going to have a son, and he can’t wait.

Being pregnant’s been nice. But Raleigh’s going to be damn glad to have it over.

Plus, they can always have another one later.

That could be fun. And this little guy should have a brother about his own age. Raleigh would like his kids to have what he and Yancy had. Hopefully, minus the hateful human parent. Not that Daddy would ever do what Richard did. Raleigh’s pretty sure, mated or not, Yancy would kill Daddy for something like that.

And thinking about Yancy and Daddy - not murdering each other, maybe in the Kwoon together or something - Raleigh’s hand wanders south.

That’s the other lovely thing about being pregnant. He’s hungry all the time, and Daddy lets him eat as much as he wants. Very pleasant combination.

Everything would be perfect right now, if Raleigh wasn’t completely alone.

Yancy and Chuck are off doing co-pilot-y things, Daddy’s at one of those telecons that Marshall Pentecost holds every week about this time and Uncle Scott...

Fuck only knows what Uncle Scott is doing. Raleigh’s been trying as hard as he can, but it seems like nothing is working. He just... he just wants some kind of relationship. They sleep in the same bed - or used to - and it seems strange that he doesn’t know more about the older incubus. It’s not like he’s a human, after all, good for fucking and nothing else. He’s Daddy’s brother and Chuck’s mom and... 

Well. Raleigh has been missing his own mom terribly, since he got pregnant. She should have been here to see this, to help him, to coo over her grandson and take too many pictures. He should have her here. He needs her here. The pain of losing her has long healed, but this whole thing’s made Raleigh feel very, very raw again. Made her absence painful again.

And while Uncle Scott certainly could never replace her, Raleigh’s been hoping...

But no matter what he does, no matter how affectionate or sweet or interested he is, Uncle Scott’s just not responding. 

Yancy says he shouldn’t have lost his temper the other day. That it was selfish. That it’s selfish, in general, to want anything from Uncle Scott, _’cause consider what he’s been through, being away from his mate and not understanding what he is and tearing his body up with human food and, you know, almost dying, so stop being a bitch about it, Rals._

Raleigh’s not sure if it’s selfish to want a mom again. He can’t say that to his brother, though. Too hurtful.

He’s contemplating wandering off and finding Daddy - the baby’s stopped kicking, good time to get up for a walk - when his cell phone rings.

It’s Uncle Scott.

He contemplates letting it go to voicemail.

Answers it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Raleigh, kiddo, how you doin’?”

It is Uncle Scott. He sounds... kind of funny. Out of breath, maybe? Drunk? But then, he wouldn’t be drunk. Raleigh frowns, sitting up as best he can. Gets the baby kicking again, dammit. “Good. The, uh, the little guy’s...”

“Yeah, that’s nice,” Uncle Scott says, cutting him off before Raleigh even gets a chance to tell him that the baby’s being a lot more active today than usual, which hurts, because he wants to share all this amazing shit with somebody who _gets it_. “Look, I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Umm...”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve been working on a bit of a surprise here for Herc and I need some help getting it back to base.”

Raleigh shifts, laying back on the sofa, which only gets his back twinging against. Of course. “I’m not really...”

“I know it’s not the best time, probably” - and seriously, why won’t Uncle Scott let him finish a sentence? - “but I do need some help.”

“Why don’t you call Yancy? Or Chuck?”

“They’re doing drift testing tonight, aren’t they?”

“They’re with the squadron.”

“Yeah, or that.”

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow? I’m having some trouble tonight with my back cause of the...”

“Oi, Raleigh!” Uncle Scott snaps. “Listen to what I’m saying very carefully. Life isn’t all lollipops and unicorn farts, now is it? Sometimes we have to do shit we don’t want to do. I don’t care how sore you are from working out this morning, how much you want to just lounge about all night in Yancy’s pajamas, I need your help. Right now.”

Raleigh bites his lip, thinking. Uncle Scott knows damn well he can’t work out right now, so that’s weird. And the older incubus normally doesn’t yell at him - hasn’t ever raised his voice to any of them except Daddy, actually. But if this is that important, if this if for Daddy... maybe he’s just somewhere where he can’t really talk, or something.

That has to be it.

What else would it be?

“Where are you?”

“A strip club.”

And gods, really? “Why didn’t you just say so?” Raleigh groans, maneuvering himself out of the new leather cushions. He and Uncle Scott had picked it out together a few weeks back; sinfully comfortable and easy to wipe down. “I’m starving.”

“Exactly. Maybe we can make an evening of it, eh?” Uncle Scott goes silent for a moment. “You might want to pull somebody else on...”

“Huh? Naw, I’ll get fixed up,” Raleigh tells him, happier now, thinking about that cute blue wig he’s got and that lovely little ruched maternity dress Yancy bought him. He’s been looking for an excuse to wear it. “It’ll be more fun that way.”

“Whatever, kiddo. Remember what I said, okay?”

“Cool, it’s a surprise, got it,” Raleigh says breezily. “Just text me the address, okay?”

“Okay, kiddo. Take care.”

It’s a weird conversation, Raleigh decides, as he goes to get dressed. But since it’s far from the weirdest one he and Uncle Scott have had over the past few months, he doesn’t think it’s really that big of a deal.

+++++

A fresh wave of pain radiating out from his right wrist, Scott holds the phone back out to his captor with his left. “He’s on his way,” he says, voice wavering a little. He hopes the man doesn’t pick up on the lie there; he hopes Raleigh took the hint. He dropped this week’s duress word - _lollipop_ \- and combined with pretending that he doesn’t know exactly why Raleigh’s aching, it should be enough.

He hopes.

It’s not like he caved right away, either. They argued about it, he and Rich - or whoever this fucker is. Argued, and shouted, and that’s when the knives came out. The one that Rich slammed through his wrist, a thin stiletto thing, is still there, pinning his whole arm down to the mattress. Missed the major arteries, judging by the slower ooze of dark, veinous blood, and Scott’s not sure how to feel about that.

He’s not sure how to feel about any of this.

If it had nicked the artery, he could probably just hold out and not bother Raleigh at all.

This is why they have duress words, though. This is exactly that situation. Although Scott’s pretty sure the imagined bad guys were cultists or something, not... whoever this is.

“Excellent,” Rich says with a smile, and takes the now bloodsmeared phone away, setting both it and the bolt cutters he’s holding aside on the floor. Right next to that whole tool kit of torture devices he brought in, when Scott first told him to piss off. “Really considerate of you. Much appreciated. I’m sorry to have to do this, but you just weren’t getting it, were you?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Don’t be an idiot. You know what I’m asking,” he shoots back, strong as he can. This... he’s never felt pain like this. Every little movement hurts, and Scott wonders if this has something to do with being human. 

“Oh, Raleigh? Come on, tell me you don’t see the resemblance,” Rich says, and smiles. “Yancy is the one who took after me more. Raleigh’s the spitting image of his mom.”

And oh, Scott sees it. He finally sees it. The way Rich smelled, the sound of his laugh...

“Fuck,” Scott mutters.

“You know, I was surprised, how easy a target you were,” Rich is saying now, walking away, over to where his clothes are piled in the corner. “Thought Yancy would have told you all kinds of lies about me by this point.”

“You mean about how you whored your boys out and then abandoned them, right after their mum died?” Scott snarls, jerking on the handcuffs and instantly wishing he hadn’t, the knife twisting in his wrist. Yancy hadn’t told him much about it, though; Chuck was the one who’d filled Scott in on the sadder details of the Beckets’ past. “Like that?”

“Wasn’t like that at all,” Rich snaps back, pulling his jeans up. “Their mother, that bitch, was a monster, turned them both into monsters...”

“She was an incubus, mate,” Scott replies, trying to breath through the fresh spasm of pain. “She didn’t do anything to them. Just gave birth.”

But Rich is clearly not listening to him, pacing now, shirt half on and barefoot. “But Raleigh, Raleigh had the sense to look at what a disaster Yancy became and he... he never wanted this. Never wanted any of this, and I knew, I had to do something.”

“Doesn’t sound like the Raleigh I know,” Scott observes, and then squeezes his eyes shut, teeth gritted. Every little movement hurts. If he can’t get out of here soon, he’s probably to risk nerve damage. 

“You don’t know him. You don’t know anything about him! She forced this on him, like she forced it on me!” Rich half-yells from somewhere beyond the bed, and then falls silent. “But I should thank you, Scott. Haven’t been able to save him until now. Until you showed up at my doorstep. Would have gotten one of you in this town sooner or later, but to snag one who actually knows him... ah, just makes everything so much easier.”

“I don’t get it,” Scott admits. His skull feels like it’s been scrubbed out with steel wool. “What do you want with him?”

“I want the same thing you wanted. I want to give him what he wanted. Don’t you get it? I’m going to fix him.”

Cold runs through Scott’s blood. “Fix him?”

“I’ve been trying for years, but it’s finally worked. Somebody finally lived through it. And it wouldn’t have happened without you, Scott.” The glee in Rich’s voice is chilling. “Together, we’re going to make my boy human again.”

+++++

A human might think it sad, but for Raleigh, strip clubs feel like home.

Good memories in places like this, he thinks to himself, as he flashes a blank card at the guy at the front door, a bit of suggestion making him see a perfectly legitimate ID. Yancy’s club, after all, was where he spent his first few years as an incubus, a lovely introduction to this life, and between the low light, the music, the smell of sin in the air...

Yeah. Raleigh likes strip clubs.

Whatever surprise Uncle Scott’s got, it has to be great, coming from here.

Raleigh wishes his back was good enough to let him handle heels; flats look a bit strange with the rest of his outfit, but he’s determined that that’s going to be the only thing people see wrong with him. He spent half the cab ride working on the strongest external glamour he can weave, making his belly look flat and trim as it normally is. He thinks it’ll hold.

It also occurs to him he could have just done that instead of putting a dress on, but then again, where’s the fun in that? Uncle Scott seems to find his cross-dressing cute, just like Daddy does, so...

His phone, tucked away in his black clutch, buzzes again.

_Come upstairs kiddo. Behind stage, up the stairs, second door on the left._

There’s also a message from Yancy there that he somehow missed earlier. _where r u?_

_Out with Uncle Scott. Doing something for Daddy. No worries._

Smiling, Raleigh moves through the crowded strip club, pushing the glamour higher, until nobody can see him at all. That’s difficult to sustain, though, so he drops it as soon as he hits the stairs, making his way gingerly up - seriously, he’s got another two months of this? - and down the hallway, to that door.

“Hey, Uncle Sc-“ he starts.

But loses the rest of the words as he sees...

“Jesus Raleigh, the fuck are you doing here?”

It looks like a slaughterhouse, up there on that bed. White sheets, covered in blood, Uncle Scott spread out and chained down, a complete mess.

“You called,” Raleigh says automatically, staring at the wounds on the older incubus’ body. “Why haven’t you healed up yet?”

“Raleigh, you need to leave.”

“Like fuck!” Raleigh snaps, angry now - angry at whoever did this, angry at Uncle Scott for thinking he’s just going to leave him like this. He steps over to the bed, touching the older incubus’ forehead. He feels - smells - wrong somehow. “You know where the key is?”

“I’ve got it,” somebody says from the doorway, and every fiber of Raleigh’s being starts screaming. That’s...

“Dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guh, I could keep screwing with this for a year... I think this is a better place to end it, though. My dress is almost done and the Dickens thing is tomorrow, so hopefully I can get back to this on Sunday! Maybe get it finished up...
> 
> (and if anybody wants, I could put some photos up?)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not eeeeeeentirely happy with this. It may be tweaked later...

“You know anything about this?” Yancy asks, tossing his phone over to Chuck on the other side of the nest, across the sleeping form of their fucked-out tech. Sweet boy, that one, but hardly any stamina. Yancy doesn’t know what Chuck’s been doing with Striker Eureka’s crew over the past few months, but he’s resolved to get them as well-trained as Gipsy’s were. Everybody enjoyed it, so why not? 

“Explains why there’s girly make up crap all over in the toilet and he isn’t here,” Chuck says and stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. “Didn’t think Raleigh was feelin’ well enough to go out.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Yancy replies with a frown. “Plus, he’s been pretty self-conscious lately, thinks he’s gotten all fat and gross. Doesn’t seem right.”

“What doesn’t seem right?” 

Daddy’s at the doorway, the sound of the toilet flushing in the background, and Yancy scoots over automatically, making him a place. He’s not naked yet, but his boys can take care of that. _As soon as this situation’s resolved_ , Yancy reminds himself. Daddy’s been terrible for his self-control. “Raleigh texted me a little while ago...”

“About ten minutes,” Chuck supplies.

“... and said he was going out with Uncle Scott.”

Grunting like he does sometimes, Yancy feels their bond flooding with concern. “At least they’re playing nice again,” Daddy grumbles, and rubs his temple. “You gettin’ anything off him?”

“Who, Raleigh?”

“Yeah. Can you check for me, love?”

Closing his eyes, Yancy tries to reach out, brush his little brother’s mind with his own. But they haven’t drifted since Knifehead, the entire length of Raleigh’s pregnancy, and the ghost drift is weakening under the force of his mating bond with Daddy. Still, there’s just enough left to push his senses inside of Raleigh’s; the scent of human blood, red and warm dripping from his clenched fist as he yells, sound loud in his own ears but the words indistinct, everything smeared with a thick layer of disbelief, of helplessness, yearning, need...

“Nothing that makes much sense,” Yancy admits and licks his lower lip nervously. “Somebody’s hurt, somebody he cares about...”

“Scott?” Daddy interrupts quickly.

“It’s a human.”

And Daddy grunts again, heading back out into the main living space, going for the door. 

Chuck and Yancy exchange a glance, and Chuck’s scrambling across their slumbering midnight snack as Yancy hits the speed dial on Raleigh’s number

“Wait, where are you going?” he hears Chuck say, as the phone starts ringing.

“I can’t feel your mum, baby boy. Gonna have LOCCEN activate the locator in his phone.”

Tail flexing nervously around his ankle, Yancy waits with growing dread as Raleigh’s cell rings and rings and rings.

+++++

“Let me answer it,” Raleigh says, desperation that’s not entirely his spreading in his gut. “Dad, please...”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” his father says, glancing at the screen. “I don’t think we need to bring your brother into this, do you?”

“He’s missed you too,” Raleigh lies, adding yet another untruth to the pile of bullshit he’s been spewing since he got here. It’s starting to make him physically sick, being this close to Richard, who just had to waltz back into his life right fucking now, attack Uncle Scott like this, do this... this horrible fucking thing to him. 

But that’s not even the worst part of all this. 

While Raleigh can’t - won’t, not ever - forgive Richard for what he did to Yancy after Mom died, part of him wants nothing more than to curl up against his daddy’s chest and be his little boy again. Like he’s offering. Even if that’s not really what Richard is offering.

As if it’s an offer, when he’s already handcuffed Raleigh to the headboard. 

“Don’t sit there and blow smoke up my ass,” Richard snorts, seemingly unconcerned about how gray Uncle Scott is getting, as he busies himself with setting up whatever spell it is he wants to work. “Your brother was always his mother’s creature.”

Glancing away, back at Daddy’s brother, Raleigh can’t help but worry. Uncle Scott’s wounds aren’t very large, but the bleeding hasn’t stopped, and Raleigh wonders if Richard put some kind of enchantment on his knives. When did Richard learn magic, anyway? He always hated everything to do with the supernatural. 

And fuck Richard for this. As if whoring them out wasn’t enough of a violation. Raleigh doesn’t want to be human, and he doesn’t know what kind of lies Richard told Uncle Scott to get him to agree to such a thing, but he can’t believe that Uncle Scott wants to be human either. He won’t do that. What would happen to his son? Would he just vanish? Die?

“But that’s only because he changed first,” Raleigh says, tugging at the chain on the cuffs. He knows he’s pleading and he doesn’t care. “I don’t want this.”

“You will, son. You’ll see. Everything will be so much better.”

“Please, Dad, just let me and Uncle Scott go.”

“Uncle Scott,” Richard snorts, and paces around the bed, coming closer. “Right. Well, _Uncle_ Scott here’s just given you a fantastic gift. He’s helped me figure out how to turn you human again.”

“I was never human, Dad,” Raleigh tries to explain, and can’t help but shrink away from Richard’s approach. The thought of his father touching him, hugging him, is sickening. Besides, it’s all he can do to maintain the glamour right now. Last thing he wants to do is let Richard see his belly. Richard’ll know what that means; he’ll know it means Raleigh found somebody who really truly loves him. “I was never human, even when we were out fishing together.”

“You weren’t begging for my cock either,” Richard says flatly. “Wouldn’t it be nice, to not have that distraction?”

“No,” Raleigh whispers. He doesn’t want this. Even if he wanted his daddy back... _you have a daddy, a daddy who loves you,_ he tells himself.

Richard smells so good. Like childhood and Mom and home. Familiar, in a way that Daddy won’t ever be, no matter how many children Raleigh gives him, and...

“You’re going to be fine,” Richard, low and soothing, and pets Raleigh’s hair. “Come on, son. Let me fix you. Let me show you how much I love you, that I’d do this for you.”

And then Raleigh sees it.

A flash from his father’s mind.

Need. Hunger. Sexual energy with that humans give off when they do something they consider sick and love every second of it, something they hate themselves for but can’t stop doing. Raleigh knows he shouldn’t look closer at it, but he does.

It’s Mom in pasties and black leather; it’s the acrid taste of cigarettes behind a strip club, it’s the chill air of the mountains and the warmth of a sleeping bag and his little son’s body pressed against his own. It’s _maybe if he was human I wouldn’t be sick like this_. It’s Mom yelling _you should want to fuck them!_ and Richard slapping her with all the rage he felt at himself for the truth in that. It’s imagining how it will feel to sink into Raleigh’s body again, how pretty his boy looks with all that damn pilot muscle fading. It’s trying to hide a chubby under the kitchen table while he yells about _no son of mine is going to wear a goddamn dress to school_. It’s touching Yancy in bed for the first time, the sweetest little boy he’s ever seen in his life, and slapping him away from his cock because he doesn’t want this, he’s not a fucking fag, he’s not a pe...

... he came, Raleigh sees.

Richard came to the club, after he walked out on them. More than once. He came and watched Yancy dance. He came, and watched, and jacked off in the bathroom, thinking about what Yancy looked like as...

Raleigh regrets looking, the second he sees it.

Because he was not prepared, not in the slightest, to deal tonight with the revelation that Richard hated his sons not for turning into incubi, but _men_.

And maybe Raleigh over-communicates just how fucking angry that makes him.

+++++

“Raleigh, you need to listen to me,” Scott begins, tugging experimentally at the knife still pinning him to the mattress, handcuffs banging against him. It hurts, by the gods it hurts, but he needs to get free.

Raleigh collapsed the bed when he ripped the headboard apart, the force of his anger amplified by years of combat training and supernatural muscle mass. The kid stiffened when Rich - Richard - touched him, and all Scott can think is that he saw something in his old man’s brain that pushed him over the edge. And sure, Scott’s not going to complain that his hands are free, but the last thing he wants to do right now is watch Raleigh beat Richard to death. Which is probably going to happen if he can’t talk the kid down from this rage.

Raleigh levels the section of bed frame he’s holding at Scott’s chin, nothing of the sweet boy Scott’s come to know on display right now; this is all Ranger. “Fuck you! Listening to you is what got me down here!”

“I know, baby, I know. But this isn’t going to fix anything. Killing your dad isn’t going to fix anything.”

“He’s not my dad,” Raleigh says, and there are tears on his cheeks now. The rest of his body is shaking, but his hands on the improvised staff, are steady. Scott’s wriggling the blade now, as fast as he can bear. The end of the blade feel stuck; probably got trapped in a metal coil. It’s cutting deeper into him with every discreet movement, but he doesn’t care. “He’s a fucking sperm donor, that’s all he is.”

“Raleigh, son,” Richard croaks. He looks an absolute mess, face battered, clothing ripped, broken arm clutched to his chest.

But Raleigh knocks the rest of the sentence out of him, the blow scattering the sound of snapped ribs out into the room.

“Don’t call me that!” Raleigh half yells. “You don’t fucking have the right to call me that!”

“This isn’t you, son,” Richard insists, scrambling back, clutching at his ribs. “You never wanted to be this. You hated the very idea of the change. Remember? Remember when it was you and me, and everything was good?”

Raleigh growls. “You took my brother away from me!”

“That, that was your mother. Your mother, who did this to you, to both of us,” Richard says, real fear in his voice. “I can fix it. I can fix both of us...”

“Fuck you,” Raleigh snarls, and raises the staff for another blow.

And thank the gods, Scott gets his arm free. He can catch that one.

“Raleigh, you’re not a killer,” Scott says gently, pulling Raleigh back, just in time. “And whatever happened during your change, that’s still your father. You do this, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

“But look what he’s done!” Raleigh says, the tears leaking out of his eyes completely at odds with the anger in his voice. “How many of us did he kill before you, trying to make this work? How long’s he been at this?”

“What difference does it make?” Richard taunts. “Ridding the world of more monsters is a fucking community service.”

“Fuck you!” Raleigh explodes, and it’s all Scott can do to catch him with his good hand, hold him back. “Fuck you and your judgmental bullshit! We loved you and you hated us!”

“We can be a family again, Raleigh,” Richard pleads. “Come on, this is our chance. What do you say, son? Give your old man another chance?”

Raleigh stares at him for a moment, breathing hard, silence falling. 

And then his cell phone rings. 

Frowning, Raleigh pads over to where it is, eyes never leaving his father as he holds it out on your hand. “Daddy?” he asks.

Richard’s gaze narrows. 

The tinny sound of Herc’s voice, filtered by the tiny iPhone speakers, fills the room.

_”Raleigh, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but the police are on their way. You okay?”_

“Yeah,” he says, and exhales. Very slowly. “Fine. Now.”

_”Cooperate with the cops. Don’t hypno anybody unless you have to. Get home safe.”_

“Okay, Daddy.”

_”Love you, sweetheart.”_

“Love you too, Daddy,” Raleigh says, and hangs up.

Eyes still on Richard, Raleigh lets the glamour fades. Lets it fall away.

“And yeah, Richard, he loves me. Just like you should have.”

Richard makes a sound like a dying animal.

Raleigh tosses the bedframe away and goes over to where Scott is standing on unsteady feet. Silent, he offers Scott a shoulder to lean on, and oh, how Scott aches as he takes it.

Neither one of them glance back at the wreck of a human man behind them, sobbing on the floor like the world’s ending. Like he’s just lost what little he had left.

Although the source of the shame is different, Scott can almost understand how he feels.

Raleigh doesn’t say anything to Scott as they make their way downstairs, passes Scott off to one of the waiting ambulances, police flooding up behind them into the club. The EMT does let him up into the ambulance behind them, whether from influence or pity, Scott doesn’t know. Scott’s glad the boy stays quiet; he doesn’t need any kind of psychic ability to feel the hurt, the disappointment, the anger, that’s boiling inside of him.

They’re packing his wrist, asking him his blood type now, trying to get answers to questions Scott doesn’t rightly now; he’s never known, he’s never been human, he’s never had to...

“Okay, this is bullshit.”

And then, just like that, every human in the back of the ambulance hits the floor.

“Raleigh...”

“Back when I was a kid, still eating food and stuff, I thought being an incubus was the worst thing in the world. I was petrified of it. I was so fucking ashamed of myself that I stopped talking to Yancy. I hated my brother,” Raleigh says, shuffling his leggings halfway down his smooth thighs. “And it was my old man, that bastard back there, who convinced me of that.”

“I’ve two bullet holes in my stomach, Raleigh, I don’t think this is the best time to...”

“Yeah, no shit,” Raleigh says and climbs straight up on the gurney, right into straddling Scott’s groin. He lays a hand on the slowly reddening gauze, sending a fresh wave of nausea through Scott. “I don’t know what you need to hear from me, but we need you. I need you, Chuck needs you, Daddy needs you...”

“Raleigh, get off me and let the humans back up.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t think you wanted to be human. I have no idea what kind of lies my old man told you, but who fucking cares? Just let me make you the way you’re supposed to be, Uncle Scott.” Raleigh bites his lip. “I can fix this.”

Scott tries to force a smile. “If you want to just hop on my dick...”

“Yancy says we always ask humans before we fuck ‘em,” Raleigh cuts him off, cold. “So I’m asking you, _human_. You want me to fuck you and bite you or should I let the EMTs get back up?”

“It’s very sweet of you, but...”

“Do you really want Chuck to see you this way?” 

_No,_ Scott’s brain immediately supplies, face heating.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Raleigh says, softer this time, and kisses him.

Scott’s pretty sure human physiology doesn’t allow for erections so soon after the kind of shock he’s had, much less with the blood loss. But he’s aware enough to feel Raleigh pushing at his thoughts, asking for control, whispering arousal into his mind, below the level of conscious thought, and, closing his eyes, he opens to it. Pushes his fingers through Raleigh’s, and lets his sweet boy take control.

It’s awkward - unavoidable, perhaps, in a moving ambulance with a pregnant boy on top - and it’s far too quick, but there’s something sweet in it, affectionate in that way that only Raleigh is affectionate. Scott clings to him, helping him keep his balance as Raleigh moves over him, working Scott until Scott’s right on the edge.

Raleigh holds him there for a moment, all those delicious little internal muscles squeezing as tight as can be, hands splayed on Scott’s chest, eyes dark. He leans down with a grace belied by his baby bump, falling off to the side a little as he whispers in Scott’s ear, “love you Uncle Scott,” and sinks his teeth into his neck, releasing Scott’s orgasm at the same time.

There’s no way human senses can process what that orgasm feels like - pain crashing through the pleasure, flush with magic - so Scott lets himself go blank, the feel of Raleigh’s overheated skin against his own. The soft whuffs of his boy’s breath are the only thing that makes any sense for a while, and Scott finds himself counting out Raleigh’s heartbeats, the soft pounding guiding him back.

Back, back...

Where he can feel the dreams Raleigh put in the EMTs’ heads.

Feels so good, he can’t help himself; Scott starts laughing.

“Was that okay?”

The ambulance is still moving, so it can’t have been that long, and Scott opens his eyes to meet Raleigh’s worried gaze. “Yeah,” he says, and brushes his boy’s cheek. “How about you, sweetie?”

“Fine,” Raleigh says, but he looks wrong. Ashen, pinched, and Scott’s about to ask about the baby when he feels, around his cock, a gush of something warm and slippery that has nothing to do with sex. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he looks down at where their bodies are still joined.

The gurney is soaked with pale red fluid.

Raleigh sways a little on Scott’s lap, and it’s all he can do to scramble up and catch the boy before he falls. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Scott’s able to get Raleigh sitting on the gurney, helping him lay down. 

“Uncle Scott,” he pants, grabbing for Scott’s hand, and the way he says it damn near breaks his heart. Like a dog that doesn’t know why it’s being kicked. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a bit of vaginal discharge,” Scott lies, and lays a hand on Raleigh’s belly, kissing his forehead. “Probably just from that position. If you can wake the humans up, baby, they’ll take care of it.”

“I’m...” Raleigh begins, and winces.

But Scott doesn’t need him to finish that sentence. 

The contraction he feels under his hand is unmistakable.

At least, he thinks desperately, they’re headed for the ‘Dome hospital.


	9. Chapter 9

“Considering his water broke about an hour ago, it’s definitely pre-term labor,” the doctor is telling Herc, “but Ranger Becket isn’t responding to treatment. I want to give him a few more hours on the IV, see if we can stabilize him, but barring that...”

“Is the baby okay?” Herc asks weakly, staring through the tiny window in the door at his boy, Yancy perched on the edge of the bed, petting his hair, Chuck pulled up in a chair as close as he can get. The nurses are just packing up the worst of the machinery back onto their carts. Raleigh looks worse than he did when he came in, and Herc already knows there’s only so much the doctors can do for him; his boy needs to eat.

“Ultrasound looked good. His heart is strong, and Raleigh is around thirty-three weeks. If your son is born alive...”

“When,” Scott corrects faintly, from his perch on a chair on the other side of the hallway.

“Yes, when your nephew is born,” the doctor agrees without missing a beat, “he’ll need a short stay in the NICU. We don’t have that kind of facility here...”

“Get a call into St Vincent’s.”

“Ranger Hansen, with all respect...”

“It’s Marshall now,” Herc says, eyes glued on the window. “Effective at midnight. After what happened, it’s too big of a security risk to let either of them leave the ‘Dome. Whatever you need, bring it here.”

“Herc, I don’t know if we can...”

“My wife worked for St. Vincent’s, back when she was starting out,” he says flatly, hating the fact he can’t feel Scott’s reaction. “Tell ‘em it’s for me. They’ll come through.”

The doctor, probably sensing that there’s no point in arguing further, shakes Herc’s hand, offers his reassurances that they’ll do all they can, tells him it’s fine if he goes in and spends some time with Raleigh. 

As if anything could keep him out.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says, before Herc can open the door.

He looks back over his shoulder at his little brother. He’s gotten the cliff notes version of what happened, but he’s sure neither Raleigh nor Scott is telling him everything. It’s enough to be pissed off, though. Mostly at Richard Becket - it’s been a long time since Herc’s killed another human being, but he’d be more than happy to start up with that fucker. Especially if he could make it slow and painful. How dare he touch Herc’s boys? 

“It’s not your fault,” he sighs.

“It is. I shouldn’t have made that call...”

“Scott, one crisis at a time,” Herc tells him, anger building - because yeah, no shit, Scott shouldn’t have made that call - but Scott looks so damn despondent, it’s hard to justify how he’s feeling. “But this is why we have duress words.”

Scott glances up at him, and then back down at his feet. “I know.”

“If you weren’t up on security protocols, you shouldn’t have left base in the first place.”

“I know.”

“What did you do to yourself, anyway? I can’t feel a damn thing from you.”

Shaking his head, Scott waves him off. “One crisis at a time, big brother. Go take care of your boys.”

There’s no leaving him like that, Herc knows. “They’re our boys, Scotty,” he says quietly, going over to sit down next to his brother on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, laying an arm around his shoulders. “You and me.”

“Just like it’s always been?” Scott asks, and it sounds like he’s going to cry, but Herc can’t feel anything.

“You’re not in my head anymore,” Herc observes quietly, heart breaking a little as he realizes what Scott must have done. “You found a way to break the bond, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Scott murmurs as he twists a hand into Herc’s old henley. 

“Good God, why?”

“Thought you didn’t want me,” Scott says miserably, words muffled by Herc’s shirt. “Like I tricked you into it, being Angela...”

“Scott, you were Angie for what, twelve years? There is no way in hell you were living a fiction that entire time,” Herc says, and pulls him closer. “Might not have been your face but it was still you. Everything you are, good bad or ugly, you still were as you, and I loved you for that.”

“I know,” Scott says, small, sounding like he used to as a kid, those times when their old man was threatening him with the belt. “That’s... that’s not when it happened.”

“Not when what happened?” Herc frowns.

“Saw something. Think we, umm, mated, is that the right word? That, that was the day you came and got me.” And Scott noses at his jaw. “Never wanted to be with anyone else but my big brother, after that.”

“Yeah?” Herc asks, wondering about that. It’s true, he’s felt immensely protective of Scott ever since picking the kid up from the homeless shelter, worried about his disappearances and addictive behavior constantly throughout the years, but wasn’t that how he was supposed to feel? Wasn’t he supposed to love his little brother, no matter how much it hurt? And if that’s the case, what’s the damn problem? “So what the fuck, Scott?”

“Well, there’re the boys now,” Scott whispers.

And yeah, there’s the answer he’s been looking for. The answer to the problem. There’s the entire problem, everything that’s been wrong with his brother since they got him out of jail.

This is one thing that frustrates the fuck out of Herc when it comes to his incubi boys; they’re all damn selfish by nature, but when they try not to be, they end up over-compensating in all the wrong ways. So here they are, his little brother landing his new lover in hospital in the name of getting out of the way...

Well. Nobody said this shit was going to be easy. He’s got four of them to balance, four of them who look up to him as the dominant force in this strange little family of theirs, and if Herc wants to be worthy of that, he needs to start earning it. He let his brother twist in the wind for too long, as far as he’s concerned. Now’s the time to fix it.

“What do you need, Scott?”

“I don’t know, ‘Le.”

Herc holds him for another moment before pushing him back, looking him in the eye. “We start over,” he decides. “From wherever you’re comfortable with. We’ll re-establish the bond when we both feel it’s the right time. I want this to be right, Scott. I want you to feel right.”

Scott’s eyes close, but he nods once, jerks his head back across the hallway. “You better go check on Raleigh.”

Which Herc, of course, does.

Taking Scott with him.

+++++

Despite getting the IV out of Raleigh’s arm and getting him a few good meals - even in immense pain, he’s more than eager to lick his daddy’s cum off Yancy’s fingers - the contractions don’t stop. 

Max Charles Hansen is born at around zero-nine the next morning, a wrinkled little red thing, screaming his way out into the world. 

“At least his lungs work,” the mid-wife from St Vincent’s observes happily as she efficiently cleans him off in the next room. 

She’d arrived around midnight, a gigantic coffee in hand and that same serious, kind expression on her face, along with a bevy of equipment and a couple of med techs. Scott talked to them, and they all said the same thing about her; _she’s the best we have_. He’s sure she’s the reason why things went as smoothly as they did.

He does feel slightly bad about using a smidge of magic to overcome her protests about his medical qualifications to handle a preemie. But he caused this problem. He wants to make sure nothing get more fucked up than it already is.

“What do you think his chances are?” Scott asks. He worked the NICU for a while, back before he’d settled on emergency medicine as Angela’s specialty. It’s always hard, seeing babies this tiny, and he’s just gutted over his role in this. Max’s little body is barely bigger than his hand.

“Pretty good, I’d wager. Nineteen hundred grams is a good weight. He might have a few eye problems at first, but they usually grow out of those,” she says, cheerful, and smiles at Max as she gestures him over, tossing the last cloth in the bin. “These things happen.”

“Raleigh had a pretty bad shock last night...”

“It’s not necessarily that. Raleigh clearly has some additional physical challenges which might have contributed to this. If anything, carrying a baby to full term might have been dangerous for both him and the child. I would have recommended an early c-section for him. I’m very upset this is the first call we’ve gotten from your medical staff,” the mid-wife tells him, and holds out a newborn diaper for Scott. It looks far too big for him. “Would you like to do the honors, Uncle?”

“Herc didn’t want this turning into a media circus,” Scott says, and takes the diaper.

“I promise it won’t.”

“I know,” he replies honestly, feeling slightly guilty. No way they’re going to let her, or anybody she brought with her, walk out of here with those memories.

He’s got a lot of clean-up work to do, actually.

But time enough for that later.

The two of them shuffle Max’s tiny body into a little swaddle cloth and back into the delivery room, where a separate team of nurses have already cleaned Raleigh up, the boy clinging tightly to Herc’s hand, Yancy and Chuck trying not to hover. 

It’s certainly not the first time Scott’s placed a baby in a new mother’s arms. But it’s definitely the most emotional.

“Got the mess off the sprog for you,” he says, blinking tears out of his own eyes, laying the baby down in the space between Raleigh’s arm and side. “Only a quick hello, yeah? We need to get him in the toaster.”

Raleigh looks up at him, red-faced as his baby is, and smiles. “Thanks,” he whispers, and looks down at Max in awe, then back up at him. “You’re gonna help me with him, right Mom?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, throat suddenly very tight. He wants to kick himself all over again. Why did he think there wasn’t a place for him here? That they didn’t want him? Whatever else he might be, whatever else got fucked up in his past, he’s here. They want him here. Like he is. “Anything you need, babe.”

Scott goes outside then, letting the rest of the family have their moment to coo over Max.

Sits back down in that chair from earlier, and lets himself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whew*... not sure how great this was, but better than the other version of "raleigh has a baby" I hope. There's a short epilogue I'm try to post up tomorrow! Thanks for hanging in there with me!


	10. Chapter 10

It’s nothing, to open the locks on his jail cell, to walk right out without anybody seeing him. Illusion isn’t an exact science, and physical magic isn’t always reliable, but Richard resolved, the day that bitch died, that he’d never allow himself to be on the receiving end of spellwork again. He’s worked hard to achieve the command of magic that he has; it serves him well enough now.

His body still aches - the PPDC really taught Raleigh how to deliver a beating. Richard would almost be grateful for that if it meant Raleigh had been de-fagged, but the other night made it look like the cross-dressing thing is still going on. Doesn’t matter. Richard can fix him. Richard can fix all of this. 

He limps home.

The police tore his club apart, but that’s fine. He was only borrowing it from the previous owner, who also happened to be an incubus. Far more resistant to the idea of becoming human than Scott was, the stupid creature hadn’t made it ten minutes into the changing spell.

No matter. 

Ridding the world of a few incubi - eleven, twelve, something like that - is a damn community service. And now he knows how to save his boy, get that _thing_ out of his belly. Stop this whole terrible cycle. Have it just be them again. Be _okay_ again. Have a human son with human desires and end all this shit that’s been banging around in his head since Dominique rocked up into his life and enslaved him...

But Richard doesn’t get a foot through the door of his office without every alarm bell in his head going off.

There’s an incubus here.

There’s...

“Hey Rich,” Scott Hansen says from behind his desk. The asshole is indiscriminately dumping books from the shelves into a large box; half the shelves are already packed, boxes scattered about the room. His back’s to the door, to Richard, and there’s something so irritating about that. Fucking entitled incubi bastards. “I couldn’t just leave this nice library here. There’s still so much to learn about the wider world. Reckon I’ll give it another go.”

“You let one of them bite you again,” he sneers.

“I gotta thank you for that. Saw something, during the spell, right before... 

“I don’t give a shit. Get out,” Richard snarls, gathering the energy for a banishing spell. 

And then Scott grabs his Moleskine. That precious tome that took Richard half a decade to track down, to steal. Richard bristles.

“I wasn’t gonna let Raleigh kill you,” Scott says casually, turning around, “but I’m not an idiot. Leaving you as you are would be a huge mistake.”

“He’s my son, Scott.”

“He’s Herc’s boy now, Richard. You missed your chance,” Scott says. “Should have been good to them when you still could.”

“I thought we understood each other,” Richard growls, going back to his gathering, reaching out and pulling what he needs to him. “You knew how much of a mess you’d made of your brother’s life...”

“Never said it was Herc.”

“Who else would it fucking be?” Richard replies pointedly, thinking about how fucked up his wife made his life. How sex-hungry she was. How much he loved fucking her, until he found out he was fucking a thing, instead of a woman. His whole life, wanting to feel _normal_ , have a normal adult life with a normal adult wife, and he ends up marrying an inhuman whore. The whole thing was infuriating. If she'd left him alone, if she'd given him a chance... “Must have been fucking terrible for him, dealing with you while he was trying to live his life, marry and raise his kid and all that shit."

"You keep blaming Dominique for everything that's wrong with you," Scott says quietly, almost sad, "but you know how this works for us, don't you? The human's got to love you, for you to get pregnant. And not just the face you're wearing, but who you really are. You loved her at one point. You know you did."

It cuts.

Right down to the core of him, to that place in his heart where he's locked all of this shit away.

Rage has gotten him this far. Last thing he wants to do is talk about his feelings for that dead bitch. The way he feels about his family, in general. Unpack this and look at it all again. This was supposed to be over; this was his way to make it okay again. Erase all the sick shit in his head.

"So what, you fuck your nephew, bite him?” he shoots back, trying to regain control of this. "Pretty fucked up, from a guy who begged me to turn him human."

“It was Raleigh, actually,” Scott says, flat. “Raleigh bit Chuck. Like Raleigh bit me. I don’t think you know him at all, Rich, if you think he wants to be anything other than what he is right now.”

And that, that Richard won’t stand here and listen to. Because Raleigh was his, is his, his son, the boy who was supposed to stay human, goddammit. “Get out,” he snarls, letting the power he’s channeling crash out into the room in warning. “Right the fuck now.”

Scott stares at him for a moment, and then shrugs, walking over to him. “Whatever you say, Rich.”

“Not that one,” Richard snaps, holding his hand out for the Moleskine before Scott can get past him. “Can’t let you walk out of here with that.”

Scott looks at him for a moment, and then, with a humorless snort, comes back, holding it up. “Whatever you say, human,” he says, and lays the book in Richard’s hand.

The cover’s damp. Sticky. And Richard feels heat radiating out from his palm.

Feels his magic snap.

Magic that’s meant for human control only, which means...

“The fuck did you put on that?” he demands, dropping the book immediately. But he feels strange, his legs not holding him...

“Yeah, so, my first thought was murdering you, but whatever Yancy and Raleigh say, they don’t need that. Then I thought, maybe I could just fuck you and turn you into one of us, but then I realized, you were a pervert long before you met Dominique, gods only know what you’d do with that change. But, you know, then, like, I remembered that satyrs are real.”

Richard’a hand is shaking, gray hair tufting out. “You wouldn’t!”

"You threatened my boys," Scott says simply. "There's no end to what I would do for them."

"They aren't..." Richard begins, and has to close his eyes for a moment, losing the words. What was he upset about? Oh right, his boys. "They're..." 

"I’ve got a buddy who’s the billy goat in a satyr herd in Hawaii who’s a pretty responsible guy and said he wouldn’t mind taking on another kid, so here we are,” Scott says, ignoring his distress completely, and pushes forward one of the boxes. It's wood, Richard realizes dully, holes drilled in the sides, like something you’d ship an animal in. “Commander Choi’s scheduled to pick you up from Pearl Harbor in about twenty hours. You’re really going to need a fuck when you get there, but that’s cool. It’s his cum, so you ought to have no problem recognizing him as your new daddy.”

“You fucker, you’ve got no idea what I’ve been through with you fucking monsters...”

“Us monsters,” Scott replies, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that probably concludes this little saga! Yikes, it's been a long time coming...


End file.
